


Will You Waltz with Me?

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Anxiety Disorder, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Contradicting Characters, Depressed Victor Nikiforov, Depression, Emotional Baggage, Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Slow Burn, Social Anxiety, Unreliable Narrator, Viktor likes to drink, abusive parenting, performance anxiety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-12 13:22:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 110,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12960129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov doesn't realize when he reaches rock bottom. He goes with it like he goes with everything else, wings it as well as he can, stands strong and proud in the eye of the hurricane, and ignores the little voices asking why it just won't get better.His dysfunctional life won't miraculously sort itself out, and help comes in the form he least expects it: from a man with a mind even rarer than his own, but all the more charming too. Viktor can't help hoping that the last time he falls, Katsuki Yuuri will extend his arms to catch him, even if the monsters of his past cling to him and threaten to crush both of them with malice.





	1. Whose Dragons Are These?

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first _Yuri! On Ice_ story!
> 
> Please keep in mind that it's probably better if you finish watching the anime if you'd like a spoiler-free experience here, because _Will You Waltz with Me?_ is a take on the original story from Viktor's point of view. While trying to stay as close to canon as possible, it's rather a depressing interpretation of Viktor's past and present - which will, eventually, turn into a happy ending.
> 
> This is one of many Viktor-centric stories that leads you through a familiar route, but I hope you'll find something here that catches your eye.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor is the prince of your favorite fairytale. He's fighting his way through fire and ice, risking his life slaying dragons, climbing the tallest mountain to reach the stars and bring you the brightest one. And you'll fall in love with him in return, accept his hand when he invites you to a dance that will turn into a wedding and you'll live happily ever after.
> 
> So imagine what it would feel like if Viktor found out he wasn't the prince at all, that he was the damsel in distress all along. If his destined charming prince was a little clumsy and a little drunk, but would still bring him the head of the dragon and the brightest star from the sky... Just to take them away when their dance ended as if it was all a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist:  
> Viktor's SP: Lana Del Rey - Once Upon A Dream (Maleficent Orchestra Cover)  
> Viktor's FS: Ensemble FOVE - Stammi Vicino  
> Adam Lambert - Fever  
> Beyoncé - Drunk in Love  
> Rihanna - Te Amo  
> Adele - Set Fire to the Rain

Viktor welcomes the quiet of the waiting area reserved strictly for the athletes and their coaches right next to the rink, when Yakov, in the middle of grumbling quiet Russian insults, pushes him inside by his shoulder as he saves them both from the pack of hungry hyenas stationing on the other side of the door.

“—like a popstar!” And with that, he slams the door shut in the reporters' faces who are hunting for last drops of juice before the men's short program starts. “Who do I have to harass before they ban these clowns from here? Back in my days—”

Viktor will never know exactly how it was back in Yakov's days because he carefully filters out the string of complaints that would deteriorate the peace of mind he's trying to maintain. Yakov isn't really in need of audience anyway, he's ranting more to himself than to anyone else. Anyhow, Viktor can pick the tone of his voice out of a thousand when he's directly addressing him, so no harm's done here.

As he skims the room for familiar faces, he realizes he's one of the last to arrive back after the final warm-up. Four out of five of his competitors are in already, some still stretching to maintain muscle flexibility, others in discussion with their coaches, and Viktor waves at one of the few he recognises: Chris Giacometti waves back with twice of Viktor's enthusiasm, makes a show of rolling his eyes, and points his chin towards the still grumbling Yakov next to him. Viktor lets his smile slip on in response and shrugs with a single shoulder. Chris rolls his eyes again and turns back to Josef, his coach. They'll have time to catch up later when the pressure of the short programs is out of the way.

Viktor can hear music and the voice of a commentator filtering through the walls, and the Italian skater takes a sharp breath of air. The first to skate, Viktor remembers. He watches the guy collect his bottle of water and leave the room with his coach.

“Yuuri...!” He hears from somewhere close to him, and he's already turning towards the Italian accent in surprise when he remembers the man can't possibly be talking to Yuri Plisetsky, who is still in the junior circuit and isn't allowed to be anywhere near this room right now. Instead, he's with a guy who is, using the kindest words Viktor can find, in no condition to step on the ice in a few minutes.

The Japanese skater, his mind supplies as he examines the black and blue jacket returning from the restroom from the corner of his eyes. He is shaking like a leaf in the autumn wind, his eyes large and looking very-very panicky. Nerves. There's always one.

Yakov's done with the complaints and sits beside Viktor, and Viktor turns to the screen closest to him; the Italian is pretty good. He presents a firm, solid program with spotless spins. One by one everyone leaves the room. Just as expected, the Japanese skater isn't capable to perform the jumps that need the most concentration. Chris is even better than the Italian guy, but that's not a surprise really. Then there's the Chinese skater with a confident but quite basic program and the Canadian who Viktor only remembers because of the overconfident smirk on his face.

In the beginning of every season, Viktor's hoping that someone will catch up to him, bring some excitement that would tickle his dying fighting spirit back to life, and he's finishing every season with a bit of disappointment because it never happens. Viktor can tell that he's going to outscore them all again, and it's not because he's too confident or his ego is up in the clouds with to the Canadian's. It's just the reality of how things are in the world of ice skating these days.

The crowd is screaming hysterically when Viktor steps on the ice. He takes a moment to glide around the arena, acknowledging the fans who came to Sochi from around the world to cheer him on. Viktor's devoted to them because they're the sole reason he's standing here today, still fighting... But he can't linger on this thought now, this isn't the moment for that. Instead, he steps into the role of the charming prince, dressed in his shiny silver and crystal beaded costume, fighting dragons to make the love of his life fall for him.

Or something like that. That's his theme, so Viktor sticks to it. Or tries to. Right. He lets out a breezy sigh as he curls his left leg and his right arm into the starting position, a knight ready to attack with the heavy sword in his hand. It's a dull, boring, overdone theme, very conventional and everything that the audience would expect from him. It's his fault though, he was indecisive for too long and had no choice but to go with the only useful idea on the table at the time: one that happened to be Yakov's, who didn't always share Viktor's views regarding creativity and uniqueness.

He has skated this program a thousand times in his home rink, and muscle memory leads him into the second half of the program in perfectly swift movements. Two quads and a combination spin later Viktor's eyes catch a close-up shot of the audience on the large overhead screen: awed, happy faces watching him, and Viktor's reminded that even if they look gleeful, he's betraying them. He shakes himself and chases the emotions he needs to perform this routine instead, tries to catch them too this time.

The music is a hectic piano piece that has darker edges where the deep tunes of a double bass join eager high notes, and Viktor performs a perfect Triple Lutz-Triple Toe Loop combination when the story develops into the moment Viktor's prince falls for him.

The song ends with the dying sound of a single piano note, and Viktor holds his final position with one knee on the ice and his eyes searching the ceiling. He remembers to smile before he lowers his eyes and scans the stands, straightens up and bows in four directions, thanking the cheers, claps, flowers, and stuffed toys that fly his way in a never-ending stream.

The performance earns him an assuring clap on his shoulder from Yakov, but he knows that it's his approval of the technical part of his routine only, not the part that's supposed to come from the heart. That part turned out very questionable in Viktor's opinion, but probably it's subtle enough that the judges don't pick up on it.

“Think you'll win with this?” The Canadian skater smirks from a separated part of the stands that's reserved for athletes and coaches usually.

“Vitya,” Yakov grumbles from a few steps ahead when he realizes Viktor isn't following him into the kiss and cry just yet.

“We'll have to see,” Viktor nods back to the skater before he joins his coach, and he can see that the guy's face transforms into some form of dislike as he turns away. Viktor realizes a second too late that his earnest comment might have translated into mock in the Canadian's head. He should have known better; this guy is taking their rivalry way too seriously, especially since it's so hopelessly one-sided. Viktor actually would really like to see him win. As a teenager and even in his early twenties, he might have desired to be on the top of the podium all the time, but lately, all he wants is to skate with someone as good as himself, someone who'd bring the fun back into this thing that Yakov still calls competing.

Naturally, the first place is his, and although JJ—he relearns his name from the announcers when they mention him—comes in second, he's still a good 20 points behind.

The corridor beside the rink that leads to the backstage is marred by reporters, and just like an hour ago, Viktor finds himself whipped to the side by a handful of them. Smile slipping on easily, he answers some questions and ignores the personal ones.

Do the results today reflect his expectations? What are his ambitions for tomorrow? What inspired his theme for the season? Is there someone in his life he's devoting this program to? What will he be up to once the Grand Prix wraps up? Is he proud to be selected into the Russian Olympic team once again?

Nothing he hasn't answered before. Their ignorant intrusion of his privacy registers only as he replies with practiced lies: Of course he was aiming to win today and of course he'll be aiming for gold tomorrow, but he would love to see his friend, Chris Giacometti win as well. He created the identity of the charming prince with his lonely fans in mind. Viktor is sure the press would know about a potential lover before even Viktor knew about them. It's a joke so laugh, Viktor, don't forget to laugh, he reminds himself. He winks and watches the reporters falter for a second, the meaning of the double-edged answer smartly hidden behind a convincing smile. There's still the Nationals, the Europeans, and the Worlds to look forward to before the season ends, and Viktor can't wait to challenge himself again. The Olympics are def—

“That's enough! Viktor has more important things to do still!” Yakov raises his voice beside him, and even though Viktor doesn't mind the nosy reporters, he once again enjoys the silence of the corridor they enter.

Yakov's fuming again. He doesn't mind his aggressive way of general communication because he's been with him for long enough to realize that he simply doesn't know a gentler way to voice his thoughts. It's half a century's experience in competitive skating that transformed him into the coach with iron fists and poisonous tongue that he is today. His authoritative personality gets things done promptly, and people of all professions connecting to skating have learned that he's not the one to push around. Quite handy, really.

“What important things?” He probes the old man with a smile. He gets a pointed look in return.

“Learning when to shut up for instance.”

“Most of them were normal questions.” Viktor shrugs with an easy smile. Smiles have absolutely zero effect on Yakov, but he's so used to always smiling for the benefit of others that it now comes naturally even for him. “I know what to say.”

“If you can't say them honestly then you shouldn't say them at all.” Yakov scolds him. Viktor remembers ages old records of a young Yakov dismissing journalists with a flip of his hand, denying answers to the simplest questions, but that's not the kind of person Viktor wants to become.

“I'll say what the people who watch me want to hear,” he replies. "As long as it's about my career."

“This isn't a popularity contest,” Yakov huffs. “They should like you because you skate well, not because you're a nice guy.”

Viktor stays quiet. This is one of those topics the two of them will never agree on. Viktor considers himself a showman as much as an athlete, but his coach competed in an era when the line between showmanship and sportsmanship wasn't yet blurred together. Entertainment is important for Viktor because winning doesn't require effort anymore, and the audience gets bored quickly if the consecutive winner of every championship doesn't hold their interest.

“When your white lies catch up with you, you'll understand,” Yakov delivers his final words and Viktor sighs.

The arena's cordoned entrance hall (strictly reserved for those with special passes, lucky for Yakov) is buzzing with conversation, skaters and coaches each sharing today's excitement, and Viktor spots Chris waving at him to join in the conversation he's having with a few other people. Viktor recognizes the Chinese and Italian skaters by their uniform jacket, and two more people who have to be accompanying them.

They're planning a casual dinner outside the hotel perimeters where they're usually relegated to till the end of the Grand Prix, and Chris invites him along. He's glad to spend the evening out and enjoy the warm, southern weather of Russia before he returns to the snow-covered St Petersburg in two days. He doesn't like the observing look Chris is regarding him with because it usually means that Chris has a thing or two to say to him about his performance. Viktor isn't keen on hearing what he thinks of this particular short program because he's usually right on spot every time.

Chris is like that. He observes and he sees and he wants to help and he never gives up, even though Viktor never feels better when he's done.

He smiles politely when the Chinese skater extends a trembling hand, introducing himself as Cao Bin.

“Dude, you gave him tips how to improve the speed of his camel spins last year,” Chris hisses at him when they collectively move towards the exit, heading back to the hotel for a quick shower before the dinner.

“Why didn't he say so?” Viktor hisses back. Chris gives him an incredulous look that just tells him that under the surface he's as entertained by his heavily filtered memory as always.

“I'm flattered that I'm literally the only person you manage not to forget in the entire figure skating community,” he says and bumps his shoulder into Victor's.

Yakov is trying to collect Mila and Yuri from different corners of the arena and Viktor uses the chance to slip away from him.

“That's because you post like a hundred selfies a day on Instagram and I can't keep up with the rest of the people I follow.”

“Aww, you're stalking me, darling,” Chris flutters his eyelashes at him and for the first time in a long while a real smile sneaks into Viktor's features. “I love it.”

Viktor doesn't know how to deal with emotions, even his own emotions. He grew up around people who had better things to care about, and Viktor learned to keep them exclusively to himself. Now as an adult he's alone with this impossibly high, solid wall he built around his heart. He forgot to put a door on it where Chris could just walk in and see what's there.

Chris is rambling about his neighbor who moved in a few months ago and who isn't only devastatingly handsome and a mind-boggling kisser, but also an excellent catsitter. It reminds Viktor of Makkachin and the dogsitter he hired to take care of him until he's back. He'd be happy just to listen to Chris quietly and say nothing, but that's not how Chris works.

“This is tragic,” his friend grunts in the end. “I'm basically giving you a preview of my sexual autobiography, and the insignificant detail you pick up on is that my man also, as a side note, looks after my cat sometimes.”

His hazel eyes settle on Viktor, penetrating as always, and so worried that Viktor almost feels sorry for him.

“When was the last time you had any kind of romance in your life?”

Viktor remembers this guy approaching him with a sponsorship program during Skate America a month ago, and how he was more than eager to see Viktor rather pose without the fashionable underwear he was supposed to convince him to model in.

“One night stands don't qualify,” Chris interjects before Viktor can open his mouth. He wants to laugh; he doesn't even have one night stands.

“I don't have time for that.” Viktor shrugs.

“You have time for what you make time for, Viktor.” Chris raises an eyebrow.

Well. Viktor basically only leaves the rink when he sleeps, so unless his partner also lives on the ice, they wouldn't work anyway.

Chris sighs. “Look, I know I could have better skills if I trained as obsessively as you do, but living a good life is also important. It's skating what I love the most, but I wouldn't be motivated to... live with only that.” He's faltering near the end of the sentence as if he's wondering what's the best way to word his opinion.

“You're different, Chris.” Chris is a social person, and while Viktor isn't exactly anti-social either, he can't even find one person who genuinely doesn't mind having Makkachin around.

“Yeah, I'm sure I wouldn't look like the loneliest Prince Charming on the planet if was skating him.”

“And what do you want me to do about it?” Viktor asks sharply, voice and eyes similarly cool. Chris looks taken aback for a second even though Viktor didn't even raise his voice, realizing that he might have pushed a bit too far.

“What I'm trying to say is that some people are worth spending time with,” he says in the end, kindly.

Viktor doesn't understand how his love life became a topic suddenly. He's prepared to discuss technical aspects of their short programs, not this. He thought Chris was worried about his disheartened routine, not the lack of romance in his life.

Luckily for Viktor, the Italian competitor has a misunderstanding with his girlfriend—sister, Chris helpfully whispers—that leads to knocking Viktor's glass of red wine all over the table and his meal, giving him an excuse to haul a waiter over to help try and save the situation. The skater's sister is profusely apologizing and Viktor waves it away, carefree smile back in place.

Since the dinner doesn't turn out to be disastrous to only Viktor, he doesn't feel awkward excusing himself after the Italian siblings stumble out of the restaurant, still caught up in the argument.

He catches Yuri's blond head peaking out of the neighbor room back in the hotel when the door of his own opens with a loud click of the lock.

“Well done today,” he offers kindly because Yuri just won the Junior Grand Prix Final with an outstanding free skate performance after all.

Yuri scoffs at him. Viktor's smile spreads a little. This small ball of anger, albeit a completely opposite temperament than himself, reminds Viktor of his younger self at a similar age. So much raw talent... Welcoming Yuri in the senior division next year may very well be the new element that will finally challenge Viktor's lack of motivation.

“You were shit today,” Yuri offers the barely sugar-coated criticism in return. “I'm embarrassed I told the press that you're my role model.”

Viktor takes in the blushing teenager's face and feels a tingling sense of pride. He isn't sure he'll be around next year to motivate Yuri, but he's still young and he will find his motivation in someone else again.

“Anyway,” the youngster clears his throat and pointedly looks everywhere except at his role model. “I'm still accepting you as my choreographer, so you better work on something good for my senior debut. If you make it as shitty as yours, I'll never forgive you.”

“I wouldn't want to embarrass you, Yura.” Viktor almost laughs at the way the youngster's face contorts. The boy is doing a fine job offending every single competitor he crosses paths with, and nearly no one realizes that his supernova-sized attitude is just a cover.

Yuri disappears behind his door as fast as he appeared, and Viktor carries his smile into his own room. Yuri can be annoying, but he's also endearing when you understand the way he ticks.

* * *

 

Strangely, Chris's words struck deeper than Viktor first thought. For the first time, he realizes what his program lacks isn't an unconventional idea, but the right interpretation. It challenges Viktor's comfort zone, and that isn't strictly unwelcome (it's very welcome most of the time, because how else would he improve if he didn't challenge himself?), it's just that the subject appears to be more difficult than usual. It never occurred to him before that maybe instead of building imaginary characters, he should put his own heart into his programs. It never occurred to him, because he never had the emotional experience. And when he lets himself think too much about that, it scares him.

Because the only love he has in life is his love for skating, and what will happen once he can't compete anymore? He can only see himself competing, and the feelings he can't fit into this idea he sweeps under the carpet. It worked out well for him until recently.

What if competing isn't something he will still be able to do come next season or the one after that? He isn't a young skater, and his chances to have serious injuries are higher every year. Or his motivation may never return. When he won't have the ice anymore, what will he have? Makkachin? Whose life is significantly shorter than his own? So when Makkachin will be gone too, then what will remain?

Himself and the Great Wall of China curving around his heart.

The morning passes in a blur of hotel breakfast, a morning jog on the still sunny streets of Sochi, and Yakov's complaints that he irresponsibly took off after the men's short program instead of helping him peel Yuri off the wall where a bigger skater pinned him for the foul language he's using.

The ladies free skate is up first in the afternoon and Viktor joins the rest of his team in the stands to watch Mila shake the audience with a nearly perfect program. He's ushered back to the corridors leading to the restricted areas when Yakov finally gets away from his responsibilities regarding Mila's post-skate duties after the medaling ceremony. He uses the walk to stretch his arms and upper body a bit. It feels like grasping at straws before sinking. Extra stretching won't pop his mind back where it's supposed to be set.

The final warm-up is starting as soon as the rink staff gets the ice smooth enough, according to the loudspeaker, so he's heading towards the lockers to retrieve his pair of skates.

“Vitya,” Yakov calls him back after he silently puts his skates on and starts for the door. Viktor stops to look back at his coach with an impassive face, unable to imagine what's left for them to say. They both know that his free skate is a graveyard that Viktor dug for himself. “Maybe we were looking at your program from the wrong angle. Maybe you didn't need to save anyone from the dragon yesterday. Maybe it's you who needed to be saved.”

Viktor lifts his eyes to look into his coach's. Yakov looks sorry. Trust him to say something like this in their very last private second. Trust him to shake those great walls around his heart like no one else seems to be able to. Something in Viktor's chest churns painfully. Viktor takes a deep breath through his nose, lets his lungs expand to their full capacity, then slowly exhales. He lifts his face to look at the top of the short man's hat for a few frozen seconds, then he turns back around and walks out the door.

Yakov's words mix with Chris's, and together day make one toxic brew that starts bubbling in his chest. The idea is too new, too alien, too unexplored to just pour on him out of nowhere. He feels almost as dazed and shocked as the pair of tearful, chestnut colored and sized eyes peering back at Viktor when he walks straight into the Japanese athlete. He sees pain equal in size to his own reflecting in them, and the only difference Viktor sees is that this guy is about to start crying.

“I'm sorry...” Viktor offers a dumbfounded apology but he trails off, his own troubles forgotten for a second. The other one opens his mouth to say something and lifts his hands to his ears, but his coach steers him away by his elbow. Viktor notices his earbuds as he turns and the strangeness of it barely registers before Yakov catches up to him and urges him forward.

It's the same guy from yesterday, the one still fighting with his nerves when he was already on the ice. He was a thunderstorm of emotions that turned the interpretation of his song and choreography otherworldly, but even the simplest jump he attempted was a disaster. Viktor watched the rerun late at night on TV, and this guy stood out from the rest of the skaters even in his failure: he shocked Victor to the core when he recognized that he, a fellow competitor, one of the six best in the entire Grand Prix, learned how to skate watching Viktor Nikiforov.

Because that means that there's someone in this world who Viktor inspired to become a top skater.

Someone who, similarly to how Viktor felt right now, had his world crushed too.

“Concentrate, Vitya,” Yakov reminds him quietly and loops an arm around his shoulder, and Viktor's forced to snap his thoughts back to his own incapacitated program.

But Viktor can't concentrate, and it's unsettling because the last time it happened to him was during his senior debut more than ten years ago. The shock Yakov delivered was deliberate, he realizes somewhere in the back of his mind. He's been his coach from the moment Lilia introduced them when Viktor was only six and knows him better than anyone else.

He wonders which one of his dragons he needs to be saved from. He wonders if there would be anyone coming who is more interested in his heart than his princely wealth. He wonders what kind of fairy tale that would make.

It was pure luck that he skated last yesterday, just a random number he drew beforehand, but today he's last because he's the skater with the highest score. He spends the time in the corner of the waiting area absent-mindedly observing the rest of the skaters on the screen with Yakov standing in front of him with his legs slightly apart and his arms purposefully crossed in front of his chest, fending off everyone who as much as dares to look in his direction.

Viktor isn't being rational. He doesn't feel like himself. He always manages to keep his composure, even when he faces hardships, but this confusion swirling inside of him is something he isn't familiar with and thus isn't able to control. He needs to find ground to stand on before he leaves for the rink, because how will he skate if he can't even walk?

When it's finally Viktor's turn, his thoughts are still a jumble, but there's a seed of an idea already growing in his head. He's confident that even if he won't be able to pull it off, his face won't give away any of his internal turmoil.

He greets the crowd with a gentle wave as he approaches the middle of the rink, and for the first time since he stepped off the ice yesterday, he feels secure. Ice does to him what nothing else can: calms him and reassures him when everything goes wrong, as if he's standing in the eye of the hurricane.

As the deep, Italian voice of the singer echoes back from the walls of the arena, he finds himself relax into the aria, carefully contemplating the new narrative he's telling. He manages to match his emotions to the longing in the singer's voice and finishes his Quad Lutz and his signature Quad Flip with the same ease that he needs to breathe.

He isn't waltzing to find love any longer, he's waltzing so love will find him. The thought gives him a sense of peace that avoided him throughout the Grand Prix, a soothing knowledge that whatever this is, it's out of his hands. That the change isn't up to him, it's up to whichever deity finds it a little too entertaining to watch him in pain. He feels the weight of heavy obligation to fulfill his own expectations rush out of him with his breath when he lands his Triple Lutz.

He locks the feeling inside his chest for the rest of the program and refuses to think of anything else, keeping his mind blissfully blank. As the music comes to an abrupt end, he wedges his toe pick into the ice and takes his final position, holding it as the last accord of the music merges with the ovation of the crowd. Air tumbles in his throat on the way down as he tries to catch his breath, his emotions stripped bare and his heart beating faster than a hummingbird's.

He doesn't need to sit in the kiss and cry to know he surpassed everyone's scores. His technical will be nearly perfect—if not perfect—and going by the ecstatic screams of the crowd that doesn't seem to calm, whatever emotional presentation Viktor squeezed onto the ice for them, they loved it.

Yakov rests an arm around his shoulder on the bench while they're waiting for the judges to release his scores, and Viktor looks at his own dazed face staring back from the enormous screen in front of him. He quickly puts a smile on before anyone else notices the absence of it. It almost feels natural with all the relief that's bubbling out of him.

Reporters are running up to him when he exits the kiss and cry, and he lets his coach take the full initiative and guide him through the mass of people, ignoring them all to Yakov's delight, fully aware that they'll be able to rephrase their questions at the official sit down press conference after the medal ceremony.

“That was phenomenal,” Chris admits to him when they meet at the entrance of the rink, queueing for the silver medal his hard job earned him.

Viktor nods his thanks. He'll have to watch his program when he gets a chance to retire into his hotel room at one point, but for now, he needs to be satisfied with the compilation of his best jumps on the overhead screens. He can't determine what his face looked like while he skated from this footage.

“You were quite something yourself,” he compliments his friend.

“Yeah,” Chris answers absent-mindedly. “I still can't beat you though.” A little disappointed.

Viktor smiles. He wishes Chris would have gotten closer to beating him. He has way more potential than what he's skating with, and as much as Viktor yearns for talent in others that equals his own, he's not about to lecture his friend that what makes the difference between the two of them is the amount of time they spend practicing.

“Well, there's still the Worlds,” he answers with a smirk instead.

JJ scoffs next to their pair. Viktor is about to congratulate him too, but before he can open his mouth, JJ turns towards the stands and leads his fans into a self-worshipping anthem, singing the loudest of them all. Viktor can't make out every word clearly, but going by Chris's snorts, they probably aren't anything he should mind missing out on.

“How can he be so full of himself and lack so much confidence at the same time?” His friend rolls his eyes. “I don't get it.”

Viktor neither. The third place isn't bad at all, all things considered. Even if he came in last that would mean he's the sixth best skater in the world right now.

“He seems to be having fun though.” Viktor observes the grin that's sitting wide on JJ's face as he keeps singling along with the crowd. Viktor appreciates his fans too, but JJ's living in an entirely different universe.

Chris and Viktor's pair is still astonished by what goes on behind their backs when the voice of both the Russian and the English announcers fill the arena one after another. The medal ceremony is starting and JJ's fans fall in silence when they hear Viktor's name. “First, winner of the gold medal, representing Russia, Viktor Nikiforov!” There's music and Viktor takes to the rink, rewards the screaming crowd with a smile and a few bows, then makes his way to the podium.

Chris and JJ follow him after their respective introduction and join him on the second and third place on his right and his left. They receive their medals and flowers, they listen to the Russian national anthem, they make a final circle around the rink, then pose picture perfect while eager photographers blind them with their flashes.

The press conference after the ceremony passes much faster. Yakov's comment from yesterday is like an annoying fly in the back of Viktor's mind, but he would rather choke on his tongue than to shock the world with the unfiltered version of his practiced answers.

When Chris invites him along to another celebratory dinner with a much larger group than yesterday, one that also includes some juniors, ladies, pairs, and dancers, he refuses with a quiet smile. Honestly, all he wants is a hot shower to warm his freezing bones, and maybe to finish the book he's been struggling with in the last couple of weeks.

Chris gives him a suspicious glance but forgives him for ditching him. “At least you can't wiggle out of the closing banquet tomorrow,” his eyes are sharp, but his words speak softly. “Call me if you change your mind about tonight.”

Viktor won't, but he appreciates his friend's concern nonetheless.

He helps Yakov dig Yuri up from the maze of backstage corridors, an unusually pissed off combination of messy blond hair and green eyes that could cut ice. Viktor offers him constructive criticism to distract him while they're walking in the entrance hall, but the boy shrugs it off with a dismissive “I won, so who cares? Quit nagging, Viktor.”

Yuri would have been better off listening to Viktor for once because the lecture Yakov pulls from his sleeve when they stand next to him regarding his foul language is way harsher than Viktor was. Yuri is frowning, and Viktor isn't entirely sure whether it's because he's finally considering their coach's words or because of what he spots on the other side of the hall.

When he shifts his eyes to see what it is Yuri's glaring at, he finds the Japanese athlete looking straight back at Viktor sadly. He looks so different with glasses on and his hair unstyled that it takes him a moment to recognize him, even with the blue and black windproof jacket that's undoubtedly part of his uniform.

“A commemorative photo?” He offers, easy smile in place. "Sure."

He fully expects a smile in return, especially if the guy really is a fan as Viktor suspects, but he's met with a shocked, even resigned glance before he turns on his heels without a word and walks away in the opposite direction.

Chris keeps spamming Viktor with photos of literally everything he consumes that evening, but he isn't able to tempt him to change his mind. He considers booking a last minute massage session in the hotel spa for a while, but exhaustion wins in the end and he postpones it until morning. He goes for a glass of wine instead, to help him ease into the story he's reading.

* * *

 

The exhibition gala isn't something Viktor's looking forward to like he isn't looking forward to the banquet either. If he could, he'd board the next plane that takes him back north to St Petersburg, but he remembers his responsibilities so he doesn't allow himself to toy with the idea of leaving. Even if he personally doesn't need sponsors anymore – he earned so much money throughout his career that he could retire tomorrow and live comfortably off his investments – he's always being told that more is always better. Just in case.

He takes his time dressing up to the party. If nothing else, at least his style is still impeccable. Greyish blue trousers with a matching greyish blue waistcoat and suit, white shirt and royal blue necktie. The outfit is specially tailored to fit his figure because it's a challenge finding anything that looks right on his body.

Yakov gives him a measuring look when he joins him at the hotel reception, nodding his approval. He observes Mila with a similarly content expression, but when Yuri shows up looking like, quoting him, a mafia seedling, his mood changes for the worse. Viktor doesn't think he looks bad in the blue shirt that resembles Viktor's tie not only in its color but also in its satin fabric, and he has a white tie that actually pretty stylish. It's just not the conservative attire Yakov prefers on his skaters.

“This is fashion, Yakov! You're too old to get it!” Yuri declares and stomps into the banquet room before Yakov can open his mouth and send him back upstairs to change into something that fits his standards.

Viktor has one aim for the evening: to get through the obligatory greetings and chit-chats with sponsors as quickly as possible, share a glass of wine with Chris, then get the hell out of here. Viktor's seen enough banquets in his life to reserve no more excitement for them.

He spots several skaters already in conversation, but only lingers on the Japanese one not too far away from where he's standing. He finds it sort of comforting to see there's someone else who looks equally as uncomfortable as Viktor.

“Mr. Nikiforov.” Here comes the first sponsor, even before he gets the chance to find his seat at the Russian team's table. The protocol would say dinner comes before business, but this guy is too eager to receive assurance the golden medalist doesn't consider ending his contract with the sports clothing brand he's representing. Viktor politely makes sure he understands that there aren't any rival brands he's considering, then slumps down next to Mila and listens to her chatter away all the gossip she picked up in the ladies division, pointing out people in the arriving crowd so Viktor can associate the names with faces.

It's fascinating how she spares energy and time to remember all of this.

Thick veins look like they're almost popping on Yakov's forehead where he's sitting between her and Yuri, the latter still looking as defiant as twenty minutes ago, just way more pissed off. He's sending death glares towards another table, but there are so many heads in-between that Viktor can't make out who's the poor recipient of them.

An organized line of waiters trail into the room once everyone finds their seats, balancing plates in one steady hand, and the soup they serve to Viktor smells so fantastic he almost doesn't regret showing up. The cuisine tonight is a mix of Russian and international, safe enough so everyone regardless of which part of the world they're from will find something they like.

After dessert and coffee are served as well, people slowly start to untangle themselves from the round tables, and Viktor also makes his way to the other end of the room where flutes of champagne and glasses of wine stand on two separate tables, organized into dangerously high pyramids. Someone changes the music from soft classical to modern numbers, and the most enthusiastic pairs start littering the dance floor. It looks like the Italian and his sister made up and are currently demonstrating a unique interpretation of tango to an Adam Lambert song.

Viktor ponders which wine to go for (red, wine, and rosé being the obvious choices) when he notices the Japanese guy approaching the neighbor table with slight hesitation. Viktor wonders if he should go up to him and apologize for whatever it was that he upset him with yesterday. If he really is a fan, then Viktor wouldn't want him to leave with bitter feelings. He looks as awkward as in the beginning of the banquet though, not like he's ready to hold any kind of conversation, and Viktor decides it's probably better if he lets him have a couple of sips of alcohol in peace before he approaches him.

“Mr. Nikiforov.” There's a lady with a soft smile closing in on Viktor, a senior of at least ten years and very elegant looking. He doesn't remember seeing her face before, but in Viktor's case, that usually doesn't mean anything... Yakov always knows who's who, but Yakov's busy explaining to Yuri what he is and isn't allowed to drink tonight. Learnt his lesson, Viktor remembers with a smile: the first time Viktor attended a senior banquet didn't end well, and that taught both of them many things.

Viktor doesn't speak business, so he carefully listens to the lady—french, Marie—introduce her proposal, a deal with a luxury designer watch brand, and takes her proposal with the promise that they'll get back to her promptly.

After two more representatives find him, he realizes that there's an actual queue forming in front of him, people who all want Viktor Nikiforov. He makes sure his smile is impeccable all the way through, slips into effortless small talk when they congratulate him one by one, and nods along when they outline an offer. He takes each and every business card and slips them all into the hidden pocket in the lining of his suit, and offers his own in return. Which, for practical reasons, lists only Yakov's business phone number.

He's always holding onto a glass of wine, tries not to take a new one every time another sponsor approaches him, but it's rude not sharing a drink with everyone who spends their time with him. A few drinks in his belly might let him lose the stiffness in his shoulders, he decides, so in the end, he just wings it.

By the time the last person leaves almost two hours later, he feels exhausted. He slumps against the table and runs a hand through his hair in an attempt to organize it. He grabs another glass of wine as a pair of waitresses stock them up. He's on the cheerful side of tipsy now and is glad to hear Chris's bubbling laughter from somewhere close by.

Oh. His friend found the Japanese skater before Viktor had a chance and is listening to an animated ramble the skater is offering. He controls his laughter and his expression mixes with disbelief as the guy carries on talking, arms swinging up in front of him to make a point clearer. Whatever he's saying manages to make Chris laugh again to the point where tears are gathering in his eyes. Viktor inches closer to the champagne table, curiously listening in on what he's saying.

He looks like he's enjoying himself now, so that's good.

“It's reeeally not that funny!” He complains when Chris doesn't stop snickering. “They were insulting us.”

“Spraying the blades of the entire Detroit Red Wings with cooking oil is, excuse me, damn funny!” Chris rasps between fits of laughter. “Who did you say your friend was again? The Thai skater?”

Then Chris's eyes flutter to Viktor and he swings an arm around his neck before he can escape, pulling him into their conversation.

“Viktor! This is my friend Yuuri! He's telling me about that time he pranked the entire Detroit hockey team!” Chris introduces the Japanese skater officially. “Yuuri, this my forever best friend Viktor!”

Viktor extends his hand to Yuuri and smiles, but the guy just stares at him with his wide eyes like yesterday. He blinks, then he ducks his chin to stare at his hand instead. Viktor feels slightly awkward holding his hand out to someone who doesn't want to accept it, but he reminds himself that he's just acting exactly like how shy fans usually do.

“I'm sorry about the photo yesterday,” he says softly in the end. “I didn't mean to offend you. And sorry for bumping into you earlier as well if it threw your peace of mind off,” he adds another apology as a second thought. Even as little as that can throw athletes out of their in-zone moments before competition and Viktor would hate it if it added to Yuuri's messed up performance.

Yuuri slowly accepts his hand in the end, but instead of shaking it he's just holding onto it. He's still staring at his hand, their fingers that are now twined around each other, and Victor can see the muscles in his face loosen around his lips, curving I into a tiny smile.

“It's alright...” He breathes out after a prolonged moment of silence. “Apparently my peace of mind ditched me way before that.”

Oh. Irony. It's refreshing to hear someone carry irony so fluently in their words.

“You guys have history!” Chris squeals in glee, a bit too happy about the fact that Viktor's holding a conversation with a skater other than him.

“Hey!” An annoyed voice interrupts them before either of them can answer. Yuri is fast approaching their trio, and Viktor's glad that most of the sponsors retreated already because the level of his voice and the mean edge to it is turning heads towards them. “You! You have the nerve to come here?! Fuck off!”

He's pointing a finger at Yuuri, and Viktor starts to suspect that it might be him who Yuri's been directing his death glares at earlier.

“Yuri!” He hisses. “Watch your words.”

“You can fuck off too, Viktor! Don't be so proud of the lackluster routines you stabbed us in the eye with this week!”

“Hey!” Yuuri finds his voice and steps forward, between Viktor and Yuri, with fierce determination. He's pointing a finger at the blond in a way that's imitating him, and his other arm extends firmly in front of Viktor's torso like a physical shield. “Viktor won more golds than the number of candles you have on your birthday cake, asshole! I don't care how disrespectfully you talk to me, but don't you dare to insult him! You fuck off!”

Chris chokes on the sip of champagne he carelessly tried to drink and doubles over in a new fit of laughter. Viktor's just staring at the back of Yuuri's head, his mouth hanging open. What the hell is going on?

“What do you know about golds, bet the closest you got to one was in your dreams!” The blond shoots back mockingly, completely unaware of every reaction he draws.

“Learn some respect! He's your senior!” Viktor warns him, stepping closer and walking into Yuuri's arm, pulling it down between their bodies. The way he's standing up for his sake is endearing but not necessary, especially because Viktor can practically feel his arm tremble where it touches his.

“Respect? He was crying in the toilet after the free skates, Viktor! What professional does that?!” His small finger is still pointing at the Japanese skater. “Yakov wouldn't tolerate such crybabies!”

“But you are not Yakov, and you can't judge someone for crying if you don't understand their reason,” Viktor says firmly. Viktor's strong now, but he hasn't always been, and he would've hated it if people had called him out if they caught him crying in a toilet cubicle. Whatever happened to Yuuri must have been devastating if it made him lose complete control over himself.

“I'll be a senior soon and one Yuri is enough in this circuit. Mental train wrecks should have no place here!”

“On the other hand,” Yuuri starts dangerously quietly, but with a steady voice. He looks like he's about to spill tears again, but his face is proud and stubborn, and his back is straight, determined to teach a lesson to the nasty teenager here. “The mentally strong don't need to bully another to feel better about themselves.”

This guy manages to surprise Viktor with every sentence he says. And this time it's not just him; he renders Yuri speechless, something that even Yakov can't accomplish this efficiently. His bright green eyes lose some of the edge.

“If I was in top form,” Yuuri adds, gaining confidence from his reaction, “Even your egoistic skating wouldn't stand a chance against me.”

Yuri lowers his finger and finally regards him with an acknowledging glare. Viktor finds himself smiling at this mysterious Yuuri who turns Yuri into the fourteen-year-old he's supposed to be.

“Don't be delusional,” the youngster answers in the end, but his voice isn't so harsh anymore. “You wouldn't beat me on this dance floor if your life depended on it.”

Yuuri holds his chin high while he considers the blond's softly cushioned insult. His eyes turn soft and one corner of his mouth pulls up into a slight, amused smile. Even after all those words directed at him, he doesn't seem to hold a grudge, something that no one manages once introduced to the blond's temperament.

He has a really kind face, Viktor realizes as he gazes down at him. Warm chestnut brown eyes so open and round they make them look extraordinarily large. Small, curved nose and similarly shaped lips, soft cushions padding the sharp edges of his cheekbones and defined jawline. Silky black hair falls around his face in messy strands, and his square shaped glasses are perfect balancing all the roundness his face carries. He's handsome in a very pretty kind of way.

As if reading Viktor mind, Yuuri snatches his glasses off his nose and thrusts them into his hand.

“Hold this,” he says and turns around, gathers a flute of champagne in each hand, downs them one after the other, then grabs an entire bottle that Viktor's sure is meant to stay on the table as decoration. “I challenge you.” He looks back at Yuri, sharp determination reflecting in his eyes.

“Dance-off, people, it's a dance-off!” Chris cries excitedly. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and turns on the camera, snapping away happily as Yuuri starts swinging to Beyoncé's voice coming from the loudspeakers.

Viktor hears the familiar Italian cry of “Yuuri!” from the middle of the room, but whatever his coach is thinking, he isn't trying to stop him. He sees Viktor looking though, and answers the question he doesn't ask with a sigh: “At least having fun for a change.”

Oh. He looks back at Yuuri, who is currently giving a very exclusive show to Chris's camera with the champagne bottle as his dancing partner, and compares it to the lethargic person he's been every time Viktor saw him this week.

“Are you chickening out or what?!” Yuuri shouts at the younger Yuri, and that's the only provocation the blond needs before he stomps onto the dance floor and produces a step sequence that Yakov would surely be proud of in any other circumstance. Yuuri tosses his suit into Chris's hands before joining him in kind.

The dance battle turns into a mix of ballet, hip-hop, and breakdance that's, weirdly enough, working, the latter two something Viktor would have never imagined either of them finding time to learn. It's fantastic how different personalities they are, yet move together in complete unison, finally finding a common language they both speak and understand. Viktor's eager to take photos because every moment is precious.

It's Yakov who temporarily ruins the fun when he realizes his youngest prodigy is in the center of attention for the wrong reason again.

“Yuri!” The coach reprimands him from across the room and funnily, both dancers turn in his general direction. Only the blond one flinches when the man approaches and grabs him by the neck of his collar like he's no more than a small kitten.

“Yakov! Let me go! I didn't finish yet!”

“I don't care!”

“That makes me the winner!” Yuuri shouts cheerfully after them while his dance partner is being dragged across the entire room.

“As I said, in your dreams, loser!” Yuri shouts back from where he's only half listening to his coach's newest string of complaints.

Yuuri turns back towards where Viktor and Chris are still standing, eyeing Chris up like he's contemplating what genre of dance he should beat him in. Chris is usually right in the center of all the fun that can happen at boring banquets, and he doesn't disappoint today either. It's not him who fascinates Viktor though, it's Yuuri and the childish happiness on his face when Chris closes in on him.

“I don't know if you guys noticed,” his friend speaks to the both of them, “but there's a pole over there.” He's casually pointing his head in the general direction of what really looks like a pole. And by a pole, he means those metallic ones real pole dancers use. What it's even doing here none of them knows, but it isn't a mystery they want to solve tonight.

“A dance-off? With you?” Yuuri asks, his eyebrows shooting up high on his forehead, just as confident in his capability as when he was challenging Yura.

“With me,” Chris confirms with a wink. “On the pole.” Then, as he pulls both him and Viktor towards it, elbows hooked into their elbows, he winks at Viktor. “This will be good!”

He has no doubt about Chris's abilities and that he knows what he's doing, but how about Yuuri? Yuuri looks confident enough, stepping on the heels of his shoes with his toes to get out of them. Chris claps enthusiastically while Yuuri measures the pole with his eyes, then wraps a gentle hand around the metal. Arms stretched on both of his sides, he giddily twirls around it like a child would. Too innocent to be playing with fire, Viktor's mind supplies.

Then Yuuri pulls himself up as new music starts, a sensual Rihanna song. He fits his back against the pole, leaning his weight against it and slowly bending his knees, lowering himself into a crouch— and Viktor needs to look away for a moment when he feels heat spreading on his cheeks. When he looks back, his blue eyes shier than before, Yuuri's chestnut pair meets his. His breath catches in his throat.

Yuuri breaks the moment when Chris urges him on. He wraps a knee around the metal and lifts off the floor with an arm twining around it as well, stretched above his head. His take-off gives him enough momentum to twirl around and— overrotating, his knee slips from its secure lock and Yuuri falls in a pile to the floor.

Chris's thrilled that he stumbled across some fine competition. “Off with the pants!” He suggests loudly, because right, the silky material of his trousers aren't very helpful maintaining a firm grip on any smooth surface. Yuuri laughs giddily, high on champagne, and doesn't hesitate when his hands move to his belt to undo the buckle, clearly meant as part of the improvised dance-off choreography. Viktor can't look away, it's like his eyes are glued to this walking contradiction of a man; how can someone be simultaneously so shameless and so shy? So sexy and so flustered while he rolls his hips in small circles, letting his pants fall to the floor and kicking them in their direction?

He tries the same trick on the pole again, perfectly executed this time. He pulls himself higher while never losing the speed in his twirls, and hangs onto the pole with one elbow while the rest of his body stretches out in the air. People, including Chris, start clapping him, and Yuuri pulls his legs up, still twirling, puts his weight from one arm to the other, still twirling, then balances himself upside down, his legs in a perfect, straight split now. Still twirling. Then he does something that Viktor's sure his own well-maintained muscles wouldn't be able to copy: he stretches his body horizontally with nothing but the sheer power of his thighs holding him perfectly still and perfectly straight. One hand is still grabbing the pole, held straight above his head, and the other is an extension of his horizontal body.

Every time he moves he proves his flexibility and the control he has over his body, and all Viktor wants to know is where the hell he learned all this. He performs for several minutes more, a mind-boggling choreography he can't just make up as he goes about it, and Viktor's so into his sight that he can't tell at what point did Chris lose his full attire minus his necktie and a piece of underwear that fits more in to the privacy of a bedroom than an official banquet.

Yuuri gives up the pole with a victorious smile and joins Viktor where he's standing, making sure that he's taking just as much footage of Chris's show as he did of Yuuri's. Chris got another huge bottle of champagne that can't possibly be Yuuri's, because that one has been tossed to the side of the large room, spilled empty. He's way too conscious of the way Yuuri's shoulder is brushing against his arm.

“You were very impressive.” He forces out and bends his neck slightly down to look at the flushed face beading with sweat.

“Thank you,” Yuuri beams at him almost proudly, his eyes shining brightly under the dimmed lights, and once again Viktor finds it difficult to look away.

“Honey, it's cold up here,” Chris complains, voice deep and seductive like always when he's flirting with someone, one arm held out to Yuuri from where his leg wraps around the pole and his entire upper body leans into an arch to the left.

“What are you talking about, it's way too hot over here,” Yuuri answers him in a similar tone of complaint, and Viktor hopes he doesn't mean standing so close to _him_ because then he'll be completely lost. (He definitely feels too hot with Yuuri so close.)

While Viktor is giving himself a mental CPR, Yuuri's pulling on his necktie, loosening it enough to slip the collar of his shirt out from under it. He slowly undoes the buttons, one at a time.

“I didn't know you're such a delicious tease,” Chris comments, holding his position on the pole firmly.

“You're very unobservant for someone who claims to be the sexiest skater in the world.” Yuuri offers his shirt to Viktor who takes it without thinking about it. Chris laughs – whether at the joke or the face Viktor's trying not to make, he isn't sure.

Chris has a flawless body, really nothing left to improve on it, but Yuuri outshines him as soon as he hauls himself up on the metal pole and they fit themselves into a position that begs to be sculpted, by an ancient Greek sculptor preferably. And it doesn't end there. Chris turns upside down, proves he can do a perfect split too and even more, like balancing Yuuri's entire body on a single thigh. Yuuri, straightening up where he's standing on one foot, deliberately empties the remaining content of the large bottle on their bodies.

“It's cold!”

“I'm telling you I'm hot!” Yuuri argues back.

They've got a small audience cheering on them. Then Chris sneezes in the middle of a formation and his head automatically snaps forward and collides with Yuuri's. Chris loses his balance and tumbles off from where he's lying on top of Yuuri's horizontal back, and sprawls out on the cold tiled floor with a loud yelp.

“You good?” Yuuri chuckles where he's still holding onto the pole, looking down at him and rubbing the pain away from the back of his head with the hand he doesn't need to support his weight.

“Give me a sec,” Chris groans.

“Ha!" Yuuri's cry of victory is followed by an uncharacteristically graceless drop to the exact spot where Chris is still lying, defeated.

They're a tangled mess of limbs and Viktor's more content than socially acceptable when he helps them separate. He decides to ignore Chris's curious look and lifted eyebrows when his hands linger for a moment too long on Yuuri's biceps after he hauls him into an upright position. Viktor hands him back his white shirt and his glasses, and whatever flirting Chris was maintaining with him seems to stop right then and there.

Yuuri struggles for a moment, trying to dress, and gives up when he can't get the buttons into the right holes. His necktie doesn't want to sit flat on his collar either, so he decides to slip it off his neck altogether and fasten it around his forehead like he's some sort of ninja.

When he notices Viktor watching him, he freezes in mid-movement for a second, and... his face takes on a slightly transparent, pale greenish shade.

“I don't feel okay,” he mutters suddenly, and alright. That's a realistic statement considering the amount of champagne he drunk.

“Let's eat something,” Viktor offers because eating is always a good way to approach this kind of sickness.

He grabs Yuuri's hand and leads him back to the dining tables. He turns to see whether Yuuri looks even less okay than thirty seconds ago, but luckily his face is now of a healthier, blush color. There're trays of tiny pizza bites, freshly baked and fragrant with tomato sauce and cheese, and he grabs a pair and hands one to Yuuri.

“I can't believe I'm eating miniature pizza with you,” Yuuri muses quietly, and he smiles at the piece of food so tenderly that Viktor's heart skips a beat. He has that dreamy expression on his face again that he noticed multiple times tonight.

“Why not?” He asks. He's peripherally aware that he's still holding Yuuri's hand and that Yuuri's holding onto him like their palms are glued together too.

“I wanted to share the podium with you, but I guess this is better than nothing,” Yuuri continues, distracted by his own thoughts.

“You wanted to share that with me?” Another question, and what a lame one as well. Viktor winces at himself. Of course Yuuri wanted that, obviously, that's what every skater wants.

“It's why I kept going, all these years,” Yuuri replies, clutching the pizza bite close to his chest like he forgot he even had it, sickness forgotten too. “I wanted you to notice me.”

Yuuri falters and hangs his head, and it's just not right. The Finals might not have been in his favor, but he definitely caught Viktor's eyes.

“I just... It's just that you're so breathtaking when you skate and I like you so much and I guess I wanted you to see how good I became because of you,” he sputters the entire confession in one breath, then jams the whole piece of pizza into his mouth. The force of raw emotions glistening in Yuuri's eyes makes Viktor's heart miss another beat.

He never knew. He goes to his home rink in St Petersburg every day and he remembers tiny six-year-old newbies confess they want to be like Viktor when they grow up, but this is... Yuuri is... What kind of determination does he possess that grants him such an impossible wish? And moreover... What kind of heart does he have that's able to carry so much love for Viktor Nikiforov?

Yuuri launches forward and wraps his arms around Viktor in a deadlock, pulling him close and crushing him in an embrace. “I might wanna die tomorrow, but let me live tonight,” he mumbles, cheek pressed against his body, sounding a lot more relaxed than a minute ago. Maybe the confession gave him a type of freedom where he doesn't feel he needs to regret doing anything anymore.

People start looking at them again, more interested in what they're doing than what Viktor considers appropriate. Even Chris and Yuri's blond heads pop up on their side, but Yuuri doesn't look like he minds the audience.

“Viktor...” he sighs, and the happiness he radiates just by resting his head on Viktor's collarbones warm his heart, and the feeling equals with the abrupt embarrassment settling on his face when he feels Yuuri grinding his hips against him. “My family runs a hot spring resort. After this season ends, please come.”

When he looks at Viktor with those dreamy, warm eyes full of affection, his brain goes blissfully blank and he forgets about the offhand embarrassment. Warmth is spreading in his chest where Yuuri's face touches it, and it's creeping up on his neck slowly, pressing the oxygen out of his lungs as it inches up towards his head.

“If I win this dance-off... You'll become my coach, right?” Even if Viktor knew what to say, he wouldn't be able to force the words through his tightening throat. “Be my coach, Viktor!”

Yuri stands ragged and baffled next to him, and when he glances at Chris for any kind of support, he finds his friend equally at a loss for words. Yuuri nestles his head back under Viktor's neck and holds onto him still, simply refusing to let go until Viktor responds to the crazy idea.

“If you win the dance-off...” he clarifies, softly spoken words in a gentle voice that Viktor doesn't remember owning. “After you dance with me.” Because Yuuri can't only dance with Yuri and Chris, not when he's Viktor's fan and not theirs.

“Really?” Yuuri's eyes are like stars in the midnight sky when he looks up again.

Chris seems to have made it his mission to make Yuuri look presentable again before they set off. He thrusts Yuuri's pants back to him and he puts them on obediently, and he even manages to, albeit done very lopsidedly, settle the tie around his neck. Finally, Chris pushes a glass of water into his hand and makes him empty it before he allows Viktor pull him back onto the dance floor.

“Have fun, darlings!” He thumbs Viktor up as they go.

“Vitya! Not you too!” Yakov barks from somewhere on his left and Viktor ignores him.

Yuuri might be slowly sobering up because he's unexpectedly shy at first, a look of disbelief evident on his face when they start to move. His balance is off due to the amount of alcohol he consumed, but he's still in synch with Viktor. Yuuri's avoiding his eyes and Viktor picks up on his tension, but luckily he meets a small smile when he forces his face up with a hand under his chin.

“Look at me, you're so gorgeous,” he tells him so softly that no one except the two them can hear it.

Yuuri huffs out a lungful of air he's been holding in a shaky little laughter, and the shy smile is slowly growing in his features as he gets comfortable in a demonstration of flamenco. Viktor can feel genuine emotions pulling the edges of his lips upwards in return, and they dance along in ease, Yuuri's body so languidly flowing with the music that Viktor isn't sure if it's his body playing it or the loudspeakers.

And then Yuuri cautiously closes in on him, grabs his hand and experimentally spins him around a couple of times, his free arm coming around his waist from behind like fate wanted it there since the day they were born. Viktor knows that movement but didn't expect Yuuri to have experience in pair skating. Their bodies press together side by side, their extended arms touching all the way to their fingertips, and Viktor pulls his free leg up in a perfect arch, balance be screwed, because even if he loses it Yuuri's arm is very tight around him. He turns his head to look at him and the gentle glance he receives makes him feel almost as shy as Yuuri still looks.

But contrary to what he looks like, Yuuri spins both of them around and Viktor lets him lead, bending his back and lifting up the same leg from before. Yuuri's back is there for support when Viktor needs to hold onto something, and they laugh at each other. The carefree reaction breaks the ice and Yuuri cups his face, gentle fingers twining with his hair and caressing his skin, and the position is so perfect that if either of them leaned forward an inch, their lips would meet.

Then Yuuri pulls him up and tries to pull away, but it's Viktor holding onto his waist now, not allowing him to put distance between them. He slides his other hand down along Yuuri's arm and interlaces their fingers, pulls their arms up and turns his palm so Yuuri's hand is resting on top of his. Viktor steps forward and Yuuri lets him lead, and when he hesitantly rests his free hand on Viktor's shoulder, the heated flamenco transforms into a reserved waltz.

Yuuri proved that he's an excellent dancer several times tonight, but Viktor doesn't fully grasp the extent of his talent until he sees him flow with Adele's voice in perfect harmony. The song is melodic but far from classical, and Yuuri makes it work, makes Viktor believe that they could dance like this to hard rock and still be amazing.

“You win.” Viktor smiles into the sparkling chestnut colored eyes, and Yuuri returns it with the tenderness he reserves only for him tonight, steps so close that there's no more room between their torsos, and rests his head on his shoulder.

“I'm so happy...” He mumbles, and this is what it takes Viktor to realize he's happy too.

They stay like this when the next song starts, going against everyone's choice of dance with their waltz, and they don't need to speak any more words in the comfortable silence they share.

“That's enough.” Yuuri's coach is the one who insensitively breaks the moment. “I'm sorry, Viktor. He usually never drinks this much. I didn't realize he got so out of hand. Come on, Yuuri.”

Yuuri looks reluctant but follows his coach without putting up a fight. He keeps glancing back at Viktor until the crowd of observers blocks his sight entirely.

“Viktor.” A familiar voice grumbles next to Viktor, and he knows it means trouble when Yakov refers to him by his name instead of 'Vitya'. Yakov has pulled together an insightful scolding for him, but his words don't reach him. They aren't enough to extinguish the happiness burning in his heart, or the disappointment of how cruelly abruptly it came to an end.

He doesn't feel like staying after Yuuri's gone, and Chris falls in steps with him as he makes his way towards the exit.

“Who are you and what did you do to Viktor Nikiforov?” He asks with a large, knowing grin on his face. The cold, fresh, lightly scented air of the hotel reception fills their lungs. Amusement is evident both on Chris's face and in his voice.

“Who is _he_ and what did he do to me?” Viktor corrects the question helplessly. “Tell me. You know him.”

When Chris realizes that he's actually serious, he lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Yuuri Katsuki,” he offers his full name. “We've been competing in the junior championship for a year or two, and I've seen him from time to time in the Grand Prix qualifiers...”

“What?” Viktor picks up on his uncertainty.

“I haven't seen him in a while, to be honest, didn't think he was still competing,” Chris says, furrowing his eyebrows. “He never managed to learn how to control the difficult jumps. Or his nerves.”

Viktor nods. He knows those jumps, has seen them on tv. Those jumps were physically impossible to control for someone like Yuuri because they were constructed to fit someone else's abilities. Like a left-handed person forced to write with his right, Yuuri was struggling to accumulate a style that fit no one else but Viktor.

“Either way, the two of you definitely surprised me tonight,” Chris muses along. Viktor's surprised too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's such a thrill working on this story. I haven't written anything in a long while and this is my first attempt at _Yuri! On Ice_ , so I'm definitely looking forward to writing more of this. I hope to push out next chapter as soon as possible.
> 
> I made the gif displayed in the top notes especially for Will You Waltz with Me? I'd love you to share it on Tumblr or anywhere else, but if you do so please share it with a link to this fic.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading, feel free to drop me a comment to let me know what you think.
> 
> Also, I'm looking for a proofreader, so if you're one or know someone who'd be willing to give a hand to my poor proofreaderless soul, that would be fantastic. Just drop me a message or ask on my [Tumblr](https://glitterburg.tumblr.com/) :)


	2. Anche tu, sei stato forse abbandonato?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor doesn't notice when the people in his life start worrying about him, no. Why would he, if he's doing just fine? A little frustrated, yes, but who wouldn't be if the program they introduced for the current season turned into their mortal enemy? It's not like Viktor to fail in such a ridiculous way when he's the biggest showman of the decade on the ice, but he'll figure it out. He always figures it out. So is there a problem? No, there isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is out, right on time for the holidays.
> 
> It's rather a strange chapter. I'd say it's rather rhapsodic, it's full of contradicting feelings and thoughts, and it's all due to Viktor's horribly unreliable narrative - as it turns out, he's even worse than Yuuri! Poor man is caught up in the whirlwind of his feelings and he isn't able to get away. So he just goes along with the most dominating ones, quietly accepting everything coming his way. He doesn't even know how Yuuri's surname comes before his first name.
> 
> He will get better eventually, but it'll be a slow change.
> 
> Playlist:  
>  Viktor's SP: Lana Del Rey - Once Upon A Dream (Maleficent Orchestra Cover)  
>  Viktor's FS: Ensemble FOVE - Stammi Vicino  
>  On Ice: Agape: Taku Matsushiba: In Regards Of Love: Agape  
>  On Ice: Eros: Taku Matsushiba: In Regards Of Love: Eros

Yuuri Katsuki is an enigma and such a complicated one that Viktor is fully tangled up in it.

He turned Viktor’s life upside-down in a mere hour.

How is that even possible?

He knows that tens of thousands of people adore him around the world, that he inspires a large number of them to even learn how to skate, but how many of them make it to the Grand Prix as anything but cheering audience? And then when they meet as equals, manage to completely avoid him unless he's pissed drunk?

It’s the confession that rocks Viktor’s world like a great earthquake with a magnitude of at least level one hundred (going by Viktor’s personal measuring system).

The amount of admiration – love, really – that confession beheld is almost too much to handle.

Viktor’s so riled up he barely sleeps that night. He battles his feelings without strategy because they come sudden and strong and Viktor’s so unprepared that all he can do is let them flow through him while he’s gripping into rocks and straws to keep his head above the water.

From all the feelings, the one that first registers in him is the temptation. He wants to ring the hotel reception and demand they tell him which room Yuuri’s staying in. He wants to fulfill the lingering desire to taste those attractive lips he got so close to earlier. It would have been so easy to do it, and Yuuri, although Viktor’s physical proximity put him on the shy side, probably wouldn’t have minded.

And then, as Viktor manages to successfully ignore the temptation driven ideas, he starts to wonder, strings of thoughts swirling in his head, what kind of person he is.

Contradictory, yes. A guy who earns his way into the Grand Prix Final. A guy who falls on the ice almost like an amateur. A guy who dances like an angel. A guy who seduces with sinful skills that no one in heaven would be equipped with. A guy with a bright smile that lights up even Viktor’s pitch-black world. A guy whose eyes say his entire life shattered around him. A guy who borrows inspiration from Viktor. A guy who doesn’t even look Viktor’s way when they meet. A guy so confident he sticks words in Yuri Plisetsky’s throat. A guy who is too shy to meet Viktor’s eyes. A guy who feels no shame twirling on a pole, almost naked. A guy blushing when Viktor holds his hand and leads him into a gentle waltz.

 Viktor wants to figure him out, but he’s a difficult riddle without enough information to solve.

Viktor’s as intrigued by his bad skating as he’s with his contradictory personality. His sorrow looked as deep as Viktor’s and he didn’t even try to hide it, he laid all of it out on the ice and carried what he failed at with a straight back.

Viktor isn’t used to seeing people brave enough to wear their hearts on their sleeves. Viktor would never be able to do it. He learned his lesson the hard way and forged his heart to stand the cut of even the toughest steel blades. And then he built a wall around it that would withstand every attack, just to make sure. Did the lack of defense mean Yuuri was strong enough to deal with whatever life threw at him or did he just not know how to protect himself? Viktor wouldn’t condemn him for either…

He turns on his back in his hotel bed and pulls an arm over his tired eyes.

There’s only one thing he knows for certain about Yuuri Katsuki: he couldn’t possibly be seriously asking Viktor to be his coach. It’s the fresh wounds of his defeat that made him practically beg the gold medalist. Or maybe it’s a fan’s wishful thinking that found a way out because Yuuri was too far gone to control whatever escaped his mouth.

Yet, knowing what Viktor knew about him watching him execute too familiar elements, wouldn’t it be a good idea to talk about it over breakfast? Viktor regularly gives feedback to other skaters if they ask for it, and after the fun that they had together they’re surely on friendly enough terms.

Maybe even exchange numbers.

In case Yuuri would like his opinion in the future too. Obviously. Not because Viktor wants to keep in touch so he can fill in the intricate gaps in his paradoxical personality.

Viktor manages to doze off in the end, but by that time he can already hear the doors around his room open and close with loud clicks, so it’s probably closer to morning.

He still has the determination when he wakes up a handful of hours later, so he calls the reception, honestly hoping that whoever picks up won’t find it strange that Viktor Nikiforov of Russia would like to know which room Yuuri Katsuki of Japan is staying in.

“Mr. Katsuki and Mr. Cialdini checked out already,” the receptionist informs him in a formal voice after Viktor finds his way around awkward words and hangs the jumbled request in the air.

Oh.

Well…

The World Championship is only four and half months away, they can talk then…

He doesn’t want to wait that much, but… On the other hand, it’s maybe better this way. Mess in Viktor’s head never leads to anything good, and he recognizes the unhealthy obsessiveness in his behavior. He hasn’t dealt with it in years, but he remembers that ignoring its subject is usually the best treatment he can give himself.

Fancy hotel breakfasts are small indulgence Viktor likes to spoil himself with, but if he’s having it alone, he’ll rather have it served in his room than in the large restaurant, risking running into anyone he’d rather avoid after last night’s events.

When he meets the rest of the Russian team close to noon, he knows he looks awful. Luckily, everyone writes his exhausted face off as someone’s with an unforgiving hangover. Only Yakov recognizes the purple circles under his eyes as anything other than the after-effects of too much wine.

“Vitya,” he says when they’re at the airport and they get to have a bit of privacy finally, Mila and Yuri busy queueing for coffee in one of the shops. Everyone seems to need some caffeine top-up after such an eventful night after all. “Why didn’t you sleep?”

“Yakooov!” Viktor forces the cheerful accent into his voice. Ignorance is bliss. “You know I’m a big boy and can handle my alcohol. Or the consequences of too much of it.”

“I’m not blind, Vitya.” His coach sees through him, of course, but Viktor had to try anyway. “That Japanese skater intoxicated you more than the purest vodka could have.”

“But why the worry, coach?” Viktor keeps up the cheerful pretense, even if he’s obvious as ever to him. “It’s exactly what you wanted, no?”

Princes and dragons and giving up being the hero and all that.

Yakov furrows his eyebrows and drags his glance over Viktor’s entire posture, seizing him up.

“Stop quibbling. You know you won’t fool me,” he says.

Viktor shrugs. Things like this happen and it’s not the first time Viktor’s had a sleepless night. Nevertheless, when Yakov reaches into the pocket of his thick coat, he expects a sleeping pill popped into his hand, not a… business card? Not Celestino Cialdini’s business card.

“That’s his coach,” the man explains curtly.

Yakov…

He looks back at his coach, traces of fondness crawling into his eyes. The old man is still a true skater at heart: so bad at expressing feelings with words, but so good at expressing them in all other ways.

Makkachin jumps Viktor the moment he steps into his flat that evening, a familiar, comforting, furry presence that Viktor misses every time he leaves him behind. The petsitter left him a note on the dining table, telling him that Makka had an exhausting morning walk and dry food for breakfast. Viktor’s more than happy to take him out for the evening walk when the poodle starts scratching at the gap under the front door where the light from the corridor seeps in.

* * *

 

Exhaustion and Makkachin’s warmth helps him relax later, in bed, way before his usual bedtime. The place is completely silent except for the dog’s quiet snuffling. Its oppressive weight spreads on Viktor’s chest like a heavy, suffocating blanket. He falls asleep with the smell of dog fur in his nose, and it’s the most comforting thing Viktor can imagine.

He doesn’t get to have days off between competitions. He doesn’t need them, doesn’t even know what he’d do with that kind of freedom, so even if Yakov wouldn’t expect him to show up at the rink the next day, he still would come. There’s so much to do: he’s got to tidy up the mess in his head, and that’s easiest with his feet on the ice.

He’s drawing absentminded loops with his blades while making sure he’s staying out of everyone else’s way. He is searching, but even though it mostly feels like he’s blindly groping air, he thinks he isn’t completely clueless. There’s this looming feeling settled in him that matches the idea Yakov gave him at the Finals, but…

Not to save, but to be saved.

He tries to grasp that particular serenity he felt during the free skate, the moment he stood back and waited patiently for his prince to join him on his own accord instead of trying to lure him in. A real prince would know what to do with an invitation like that.

With Stammi Vicino in his ears, he starts going through the choreography step by step, pulling the story apart and trying to give every element, every movement, and every line of the lyrics a new meaning.

Viktor was obsessed with the idea of love at first sight when he was small. He never saw it happen in real life, but that just made it sound even more special, even more romantic. A rare love that only the luckiest could find. Later, experience taught him that love at first sight was just a prettified name for simpleminded lust. It’s normal not to care what’s beyond a pretty face, a curvy waist, or a perky backside… not in Viktor’s life anyway, where being cute or pretty or attractive is almost as important as being talented.

Viktor’s a weird exception who is always more invested in what’s _inside_ than what’s outside. Maybe he’s like this because he prefers to treat people the way he’d like to be treated too. He wonders if Yuuri—

No.

Viktor swats the idea out of his head before it sets foot and spreads like a virus.

Love at first sight belongs to fairy tales and fairy tales aren't real.

Does Yakov even know what kind of personal turmoil he tossed Viktor into when he shifted his vision with that one, well-aimed sentence?

But, of course, he does. No one knows Viktor better than Yakov.

Skaters’ hearts are as fragile as glass, is what he says from time to time. Sometimes they need to be shattered into pieces, so they can mend into something stronger. It’s not the first time he practices this sentiment on Viktor, but as painful as the experiences are, Viktor’s never sure Yakov actually succeeds.

How would he know?

His personal Great Wall of China protects it very well.

Stammi Vicino is playing in a loop and it starts again, and Viktor skates it until his legs can’t take any more.

Weeks pass in a blur because he isn’t getting closer to putting logic into the storyline. If anything, they both look more miserable than ever, so frustration drives him to stop working on them altogether. He skated them a thousand times and muscle memory guides him through them without errors, so neglecting them a bit won’t do them much harm.

He idles on the ice, trying to gather inspiration for an entirely new program. It’s time to start thinking about what he wants to do in the next season anyway.

His mind still isn’t cooperating though, it keeps popping random thoughts of Yuuri Katsuki in his face…

Viktor hasn’t tried contacting Celestino yet, even though his business card is a constant reminder on the dining table whenever he sits down to eat. Yuuri didn’t try to get in touch with him either… in case he meant what he said, that he wanted Viktor to coach him. It wouldn’t take him much effort, because Yakov’s rink is listed publicly, and a quick search would provide him with a usable phone number.

It isn’t like Viktor doesn’t want to call... Ignorance clearly isn’t helping this obsession, so eventually, he’ll need to find another way to get rid of it. It’s just that… he is able to recognize the cold chill climbing up his spine, vertebrae by vertebrae until a layer of frost materializes in his lungs.

That fear is colder than the toughest winter night in Russia, and it numbs Viktor in unimaginable ways. He’s being silly, he knows. Yuuri Katsuki looks like a marshmallow compared to his ex-boyfriends, but even the memory of his mesmerizingly beautiful, warm, gentle eyes can’t unfreeze him.

Viktor slows to a halt in the middle of the rink. He searches for Yakov’s silhouette on the side. He’s currently yelling at Yuri, veins almost bursting on his forehead due to his hard-to-control temper.

“What did we agree on?! NO QUADS!”

Yuri elegantly ignores him and launches into another salchow, fully aware that Yakov’s too old and too lazy to lace up his skates and chase him on the ice.

“Yuri Plisetsky, if you’re unable to follow instructions, you can go home!”

Viktor tries to focus on Yuri, but his brain supplies him with the sight of a black haired, brown eyed skater with the same name, laughing and dipping Viktor back, a tender hand caressing his face.

“Vitya! Off the ice!”

Viktor flinches at the coach suddenly directing his thundering voice at him and scrambles off the ice like a deer in headlights.

“What are you doing?” He asks when Viktor collapses on the bench next to him, his face hidden in the shadows behind a silver curtain.

“Yakov,” Viktor replies with a hesitant question of his own. He’s glad his relationship with him allows such questions because he’s the only person he can go to… “How did you know that Lilia’s different than your other lovers?”

The old man sits down next to Viktor. He lands a heavy hand on his shoulder and squeezes it a little, the rest of his attention fixed on the fuming Yuri starting a string of triple axels.

“Vitya,” he says in the end. “Different isn’t always better.”

Viktor knows that, has seen Yakov deal with it since he was six and he had known Lilia even before that. They shared a strange force of gravity that collided them like two stars, scorching hot flames feeding on everything around them. They stood no chance to survive, but Viktor thinks it’s still better than zero magnetism, or the opposite of it, like when you try to force the wrong sides of magnets together.

The collision is avoidable if only one of them is the sun, and Viktor doesn’t mind being the globe orbiting Yuuri.

He sighs stubbornly.

“But how did you know?”

“Everything else felt insignificant compared to her.”

Oh. Then maybe Viktor’s wrong. Yuuri’s significantly different than anyone else Viktor encountered, but to say everything is insignificant compared to him feels like a stretch… He doesn’t understand why the little voice in his head chooses to supply, love’s something that grows gradually, in that moment.

“Did you call Celestino?” Yakov bluntly asks him, pulling Viktor abruptly back to the present. Of course, he always seems to know what Viktor’s mood swings are about.

Viktor shakes his head.

“You still can if you want to.”

Viktor glances from Yuri at his coach. Yakov’s still watching Yuri, a graceful little thing transforming his camel spin into a Biellmann so graciously you almost forget he’s the notorious Russian Punk.

“Yeah.”

* * *

 

Viktor wouldn’t admit it if he was tortured, but the only reason he pulls through the Russian Nationals is that he’s binge-watching Disney classics out of sheer despair in the morning of his short program to force himself into the right mood. It’s not the most desperate thing he’s ever done to get into a role he fabricated, but it’s certainly not the one he’d live up to the easiest. He’s distracted during both programs, but they still earn him enough points to land the gold.

He doesn’t even remember his birthday until Yakov and the rest of his skaters surprise him with a cake, and it could be the best cake in the world and still turn his stomach like rotten food. Reporters find him with their birthday related questions too, but all they want to know is whether in this veteran age of twenty-seven he’s finally thinking of retirement. They seem to insult Yakov more than him and he’s being rushed away from the nosy bunch people. That will lead to a dozen articles in the coming days, contemplating whether living legend Viktor Nikiforov is finally getting too old to effortlessly rule the skating world.

His break-through doesn’t arrive by the European Championship either.

It seems that Yakov gave up on him until the end of the season for the first time. He said everything that could be said, and all he can do now is stand on the side, straighter, harder, and quieter than a marble pillar, a constant support Viktor’s inwardly grateful for. There are words of encouragement before he takes to the ice like always, but a lecture doesn’t greet him at the exit anymore.

Chris is competing too, and Viktor is slightly worried that his friend will notice that he's changed. Chris tends to be good at that, and when they reunite on the second day in the restricted areas after they’re both done with their short programs, he indeed gets a look full of no good promises.

Viktor leaves the revenue four hours later, with the best scoring short program in his pocket. Restless but sort of lethargic at the same time, he opts to check out the swimming pool in the hotel. He’s tired but not really sleepy, somewhat relieved that his lackluster routine is still well liked but dissatisfied with his obvious shortcomings. When ice isn’t available, water is the next best option to relax.

The chilly water prickles his skin as he eases into it, but it’s nothing compared to the colder temperature of Russian pools. He makes himself comfy at the edge after a couple of warm-up lapses, staring at the ambient lights hidden behind attractive panels on the wall.

“I thought I’d find you here.” Viktor hears the familiar voice of his friend. Chris is approaching, ready to swim too, with only a towel around his waist.

“Oh, have you been seeking Russian companion tonight?” Viktor teases lightly.

“Only you, precious.” Chris teases back at the edge, revealing the tiny swimming briefs he’s wearing.

“How does that make your boyfriend feel about me?” Viktor chuckles when Chris makes a point shaking his booty and jumps butt-first into the water, masterfully soaking Viktor and both of their towels.

“He likes naughty boys.” Chris winks as he emerges from under, finding a comfortable spot next to Viktor. “But I realize life hasn’t been as generous with you as it’s been with me.”

Viktor arches his eyebrows, still wiping the water from his eyes.

“Your number one fan flopping at the Japanese Nationals. It was a nasty show,” Chris says casually, winding an arm around Viktor’s shoulder.

“…What?”

Viktor didn’t watch it. He banned himself from searching Yuuri’s name online because that was… not something he wanted to feed his obsession with.

“You didn’t know?” Chris looks genuinely surprised, and yeah, probably rightly so.

Viktor shrugs. Purses his lips. So Yuuri didn’t pull himself together after the Grand Prix Final.

It’s okay. It’s not Viktor’s problem.

“You’re an idiot.”

“He wasn’t seriously asking me to coach him.”

“This isn’t about coaching!” Chris gapes at him.

“I’ll see him at the Worlds.”

“Yeah, maybe, if he buys a ticket,” Chris sighs, probably remembering that Viktor’s skull is a bit thick sometimes.

“What?” Now Viktor perks up again.

“As I said,” Chris punctuates every word like he’s talking to someone who doesn’t speak fluent English. “He bombed his chances at the Nationals, so he won’t be going to the Worlds, not even to the Four Continents. He failed to get the required minimum technical points to qualify.”

If you can skate on the silence stretching between them with blades, bring it on, it’s thick enough to try.

How can someone compete in the Grand Prix Final in one second and completely go off the picture in the next?

“I don’t know Celestino Cialdini that well,” Chris continues, deliberately turning the knife in Viktor’s heart, “but he doesn’t look like the right match for him. I’m following his cute rinkmate on Instagram, and Yuuri’s missing from his photos lately.”

Viktor nods still hung up on the fact that Japan’s best didn’t make it to the Worlds. How many points did he need to lose to sabotage his own qualification? As far as Viktor remembers, both his short and free skate programs are advanced level, and surely he wouldn’t attempt skating them if he was incapable of handling them.

“Yuuri’s profile is useless too. He completely went off the radar after the finals,” Chris is still rambling about social media profiles.

The minimum requirements for the Worlds are ridiculously low for someone as skilled as Yuuri. Chris is out of his mind, and he’s definitely following the wrong sources of media.

“I guess his coach chose to focus on his rinkmate instead. Apparently, he’s debuting in the seniors.”

If Viktor considered being realistic for a moment, he’d say that Yuuri just wasn’t a great skater, that maybe Viktor just… completely uncharacteristically misjudged him. Viktor can be unrealistic like that sometimes. Maybe this Grand Prix was meant to be the prime of Yuuri’s career. Maybe he’s one of those one season wonders who disappear as quickly as they appear. It happens a lot: lack of sponsors, lack of achievements… the reason isn’t important.

The theory doesn’t feel right though. Viktor knows he’s an outstanding dancer himself—he started so young he can’t remember a time he _wasn’t_ dancing—and hardly anyone impresses him. If someone does, they’re no dime-a-dozen performers. So Yuuri can’t possibly be a dime-a-dozen performer.

Still, it’s hard to handle the disappointment that derives from Viktor’s inability to grasp this skating enigma.

“I think he’s the only active coach in Detroit. I mean, Feltsman manages half of the Russian skaters, yeah, but not everyone is able to divide their attention like him, you know what I mean? Look at Josef for example.”

“And why do I need all this information?” Viktor asks, putting real effort into maintaining a light enough tone so his annoyance doesn’t show and trying to cut off Chris’s endless chatter at the same time.

“I don’t know.” Chris glances at him, and honestly, he shouldn’t look as amused as he does. This is in no way an amusing matter, not to Viktor anyway – to a gossiper like Chris, he can imagine it is good entertainment. Chris loves it when there’s drama in Viktor’s life because usually, it’s blank like a fresh sheet of paper. “Maybe because in the ten years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you more alive off the ice than at that banquet. And maybe I wouldn’t mind seeing you like that more.”

“You’re not helping, Christophe,” Viktor answers, frustration finally painting the tone of his voice a shade darker.

“Oh,” is all Chris says, eyes widening like he didn’t expect to hit the bullseye. He’s watching Viktor, searching answers for questions he doesn’t ask, and Viktor hates that look.

Chris’s phone beeps with an incoming message. Josef is summoning him; it looks like he’s somehow convinced that Chris is in the middle of doing something irresponsible that hazards his chance to win tomorrow. Chris, slightly offended because he is actually being a good boy tonight, gathers his towel back around his waist.

Viktor waves him goodbye somewhat in relief, but at the same time not at all relieved that he’s now alone with a handful of fresh thoughts that his friend vigorously planted in his head.

_This conversation isn’t done!_

Viktor smiles at Chris’s message.

The inspiration to soak in the chilly water escapes him. He just wants to return to within the thick walls of his hotel room and maybe have a look online, see what Yuuri Katsuki is really up to lately.

The guy looks shockingly exhausted, can even be called sickish, and for a moment Viktor almost thinks there’s some sort of medical issue running in the background. Apparently, he isn’t the only one suspecting that, but several news sources deny the rumor in the end. The reason behind the horrible performances is a mystery. Viktor finds references to his older programs, and although Yuuri’s results seem to be inconsistent, he was never this bad.

Viktor watches him completing quads— _Viktor’s_ quads—with flying scores in some routines, like an angel descending on land with the single purpose to mesmerize the earthlings who set eyes on him. Even though he falls quite a lot, his interpretations are breath-taking nonetheless: heartfelt, devoted, determined, and so, so full of emotions. He’s a flawless dancer, just like he proved on the dance floor with Viktor. He feels the music in his core and flows with it like his body is the single instrument making it. His jumps lack technical skills, but people with better knowledge would break under the emotional difficulty he sets for himself. And his stamina, that’s also otherworldly! His mistakes, if anything, just add to the tension he builds with his choreographies. Viktor is completely invested by the time he’s done watching the random fan’s YouTube playlist.

He goes back to the articles and loads a suspiciously click-bait looking title that announces Yuuri’s withdrawal from the rest of the competitive season and even questions his plans to return at all.

…The part about the withdrawal appears to be true, several other sites confirm it. Yuuri has fired his coach too, in favor of focusing on finishing his studies at a university in Detroit.

Viktor is frustrated more than anything else, because what sane person with Yuuri’s talent would drop a lifetime worth of training in the middle of a bad streak of luck? Everybody has bad streaks of luck. Viktor had bad streaks of luck before he became world champion and never once thought of giving up. Also, didn’t Yuuri want to share the podium with Viktor after all?

Didn’t he want to meet Viktor again?

And it’s not like Yuuri couldn’t manage both his studies and skating at the same time. He managed for, what, four years? Five? Either the media is lying, which wouldn’t be surprising based on Viktor’s personal experience, or Yuuri is running away.

It doesn’t matter, the voice in his head tells him, it’s normal. Nothing and no one is constant in Viktor’s life, and why would Yuuri be an exception.

Disappointed, he shuts down his laptop and goes to sleep wishing that Makkachin was there with him so he had someone to snuggle up to.

He has the entire next day off while the competition focuses on the ladies and the ice dancers, so Viktor puts on his training clothes and running shoes, loads a random playlist on his phone, and dedicates the unwanted free time to a daylong jogging trip along the river of Zagreb. It’s a quiet route that leads through the entire city; the riverside is surrounded with grass on both sides, and it almost feels like he isn’t even in the city when he focuses on the path under his feet.

It’s a good idea to spend the day alone. He manages to clear his head and stay in that state of mind through the next day too, even when he’s greeting the crowd on the ice, circling around the rink to honor them in return. He found peace yesterday and locked it in his head, and he hopes he’ll be able to keep it there at least until the end of his free skate.

He let go of Yuuri and found himself in exchange. The lyrics are beautiful, each word coming from Viktor’s heart, but who did he write it for again? Doesn’t matter… Viktor is alone in the end. Even if the initial inspiration evaporated, he’s an entertainer as much as a skater, and entertainers entertain. They fake if they have to. And Viktor knows how to do that, he just needed to remember.

He keeps his mind blissfully empty, focusing only on the next jump, the next spin, the next step sequence. He moves fluidly, sharp blades cutting the ice like a hot knife cuts through butter. He gets dangerously close to breaking his own record.

“Not what I expected,” Yakov mutters to him in the kiss and cry, careful that only Viktor hears what he’s saying. Whether his coach means the numbers on the screens or the shockingly new emotions poured into the performance, Viktor won’t find out.

As soon as they stand up, there are reporters surrounding them, and everyone’s pushing to know what caused the change in Viktor perception. Was it that visible? Viktor wouldn’t have realized without the reporters blatantly pointing it out.

“Nothing special,” he says, reserved smile and a wink in place. As always, it’s up to each individual to interpret his routine however they wish to, and Viktor’s keen on showing as many facets of it as he can.

Yakov groans next to him with distaste, and like always, it’s him who gets rid of the nosy bunch of people.

“You’re playing with fire.” He warns Viktor.

Viktor shrugs. He’s telling them what they want to hear. It worked out fine so far in his career, even if Yakov disagrees. There’s no point arguing about it; the two of them will never come to anything close to an agreement on this matter.

He doesn’t care. A strange kind of lightness is keeping his head afloat. Going for the jog yesterday was definitely a good decision. The high tempo music in his ears shut out every thought that tried to penetrate his brain, and he pushed his body until he nearly collapsed. It was a blessing falling into bed at the end of the day, and he didn’t stir until late in the morning. He didn’t get closer to solving any of his issues, but spending the day basically thoughtless helped him filter them better, allowing only the most crucial ones to influence him today.

He’s ready to leave this season behind. Without noticing, he changed too much this year, to the point where he can’t even remember what he was like a year ago.

He’s confused and he’s lost. He feels like his world split in two, his future on the wrong side, and he’s scared to go near the edge of the tear and look down to see how deep the damage is. He doesn’t even understand why it happened. The little voice in his head supplies Yuuri’s name, but why would Viktor blame him? His issues started way earlier than their encounter at the Finals.

Viktor shakes himself, getting rid of the shadow of Yuuri in his mind.

He wants to create something entirely new and completely unrelated to fairytale love stories.

He struggles his way through the last day; there’s nothing left except for the closing ceremony and exhibition performances, and time passes so slowly it almost feels like the hands of his watch stopped working. He makes a mandatory appearance at the closing banquet and escapes as soon as Yakov turns away for a couple of minutes. He’s dealt with the sponsors, so what’s the point staying around?

* * *

 

Viktor has abstract ideas of what he wants for the next season, but they’re risky. Very risky. Viktor likes a good challenge, but he doesn’t want to repeat the same mistake twice and run into a topic that deems to be too hard again.

Another theme on the topic of love… What idiot would choose to insist on something they obviously can’t handle? Dig his own grave and lay in it?

He tells himself this time is different because he has a subject who he can direct his message to now. He isn’t a prince looking for love anymore. He found the person his heart belongs to.

And then tells himself this is a really stupid thing to even consider because, for all he knows, he’ll never see Yuuri Katsuki again.

He falters then, pushes the idea out of his head for a few days… Until it sneaks back in there and settles like a new tenant, leaving no option other than to proceed with it – see what it turns into. And even if Yuuri Katsuki is just an insistent ghost from his past, he can still take advantage of the situation.

He’s obsessing again, but how can he not over someone like Yuuri?

Viktor tries to pick at the feelings beyond his obsession, a combination of two polar opposites he tries to dissect. One is a shy, slowly budding feeling that he only dares to observe from the other side of the spacious room in his heart, the other one something he’s more used to: desire.

As soon as he starts brainstorming, a familiar flash of creativity hits him. The seeds of emotions grow into trees with beautiful crowns. He creates two separate universes for them and he could get lost in both. He commissions music for both of them: one innocent that sounds like a choir of angels singing with instruments playing the tunes of love like it’s their only religion. Something everlasting, something with a meaning beyond what humans can decipher. The other one… That can’t be anything other than flamenco. That’s what Yuuri swept him off his feet with before Viktor led them into a breath-taking waltz. It doesn’t even need lyrics. No, the music alone will be enough to convey everything Viktor wants to say.

He has nothing better to do so he starts choreographing them before the commissioned pieces are ready. He works out the order of jumps, a list of spins that compliment the style of the music, and other moves and intricate footwork that best represent what he wants to tell.

He also needs to decide which one is the short program and which one is the free skate: they require different approaches depending on which one is which. The free skate requirements give him more freedom of creativity, while the short program needs to follow a set list of elements. It makes sense to make the flamenco into his short program. For one, Viktor doesn’t want to push himself beyond exhaustion with a fast-paced, energetic choreography in the four and half minutes the program has to last—he’s done it several times when he was younger and had a list of things to prove to the world—and for another, he doesn’t want the agape blooming in his heart be constrained by restrictive ISU guidelines.

Yakov watches him with cautious interest. He’s probably trying to figure out where Viktor’s getting the erotic inspiration from, considering that his daily routine consists of little other than skating and sleeping.

Viktor keeps in touch with the composers and receives samples every couple of days; they double check with him to make sure every sound is how Viktor imagines them, so even if he doesn’t have the full pieces yet, he can make do with the fragments that are finished already.

On Love: Eros and On Love: Agape. One is a sexual love, the other is the purest love on earth. He focuses on the former because he’s a bit of a coward: the feelings he channels into his eros are so much easier to handle than his agape. That latter feeling is too new, too undefined, and too deep to dare dip his toes in it.

His mood develops somewhat now that he isn’t constantly trying to make up for what he lacks in his current program. He thinks he knows what makes the difference: the central topic is still love, he’s still reaching out so love will come to him, and he still hopelessly feels alone, but it’s a relief that these routines are at least dedicated to a particular person. He doesn’t even need validation from Yuuri because Yuuri showing his love to Viktor at the banquet is already a validation.

Viktor relives the night of that in each glide, each jump, every time his arm moves, or his weight shifts from one leg to another. Yuuri is there in every movement of his hips, in the curve of his waist, at the tip of his fingers, in the corner of his lips when he matches his feelings with a similarly sexy smile.

Yet the story he builds around the music is bittersweet. Eros is a mysterious person easily charming everybody who sets eyes on him, but he doesn’t care about them: his own eyes are fixed on one single person, the most beautiful one in the room. He’s determined to make him fall for him, and oh he does fall hard. But how does their love story end? Is Yuuri falling too, or will he disregard Viktor like he disregards everyone else?

Viktor circles around holding his spread eagle for as long his momentum lasts. How does the story end?

“Is this choreography for me?” Yuri comes to an abrupt stop in front of Viktor. “It better be!”

“Aren’t you a bit too young for something like this?” Viktor asks him with a light heart. Yuri’s general attitude towards others isn’t very kind, but Viktor finds his outbursts easy to handle.

“Don’t you dare forget what you promised me!” And with that, the blond one is taking off before Yakov can dismiss them for slacking off.

Viktor stares after him. He keeps finding himself in awkward situations because he’s forgetful. The problem is, he keeps promising stuff he doesn’t always mean to keep. He knows that ultimately, he ends up hurting them, but… that’s just how he is. Unable to say no. He wonders what it is that Yuri’s so worked up about.

Makkachin was exiled to the changing rooms after he enthusiastically followed Viktor onto the ice one day and knocked Georgi nearly off his feet. He slipped and sprawled, gliding across the ice like a huge, solid hump of brown fur. Viktor found it funny—Makka was just bored because everyone kept ignoring him—but their coach gave the dog a lecture in the same manner that was usually reserved for unruly skaters. Makka, heroically, listened to him and his excited expression didn’t shift, clearly thinking of the accident as the primary excitement of his day and Yakov’s scolding a praise for doing a good job.

He’s a good dog though, even if everything he does seems to be a nuisance around the rink. It’s not like he has uncontainable energy anyway. Going by his age, he should be considered a senior citizen of St Petersburg. He’s fifteen years old, and he won’t get any younger. Viktor tries to always have him around these days because he can’t tell how long he has left with him… He just wishes people would understand why he needs him so much.

Viktor scratches his ear where he’s lying on a bench as he walks past him in the changing room, sitting on the other side of the same bench to unlace his skates. Makkachin’s eyes slide open and he yips his hello, keeps an eye on Viktor as he passes from their side of the room to the other to grab his winter coat, and perks his head up only when he recognizes the sound of the clinking buckles on his leash.

“Let’s go, Makka,” he says and the dog is on his way, stopping obediently next to him so he can hook the leash on his collar.

They’re having a one-sided conversation on the way home, Viktor mostly wondering what they shall have for dinner and whether Makka wants to be treated to some extra juicy pieces of chicken liver, his favorite. He gets it at least once a week, and not exclusively because Viktor likes to spoil him that much (he does, but that’s not the point). It’s been part of his diet for years because it’s one of the most nutritious foods a dog can eat, and this elderly puppy needs all the nutrition he can get.

Eventually, both of the commissioned songs are finished, and Viktor finally perfects On Love: Eros a week later. He leaves the program to settle before he picks it apart again and makes sure it really is the best possible choreography and throws himself into On Love: Agape…

He carefully constructed every second On Love: Eros, but lets Agape fall entirely on his intuitive. Doesn’t let himself overthink it because then he’d just get even more tangled in his confusion. Instead, he allows the gentle music to wash through him and move his limbs however it feels right. He gets into a familiar zone, a state of mind that helped him create the best of if programs in the past, several that even made the audience cry. He floats so far away from reality, that when Yuri dashes past him, preparing for what turns out as a triple toe loop-triple loop combo with an aggressive take-off and a landing so hard it cuts the ice and leaves gushing dust in his wake, it startles Viktor.

“I hope you know I’d rather die than to skate _this_ ,’” he mutters on the way back past Viktor. “You’re so mushy it’s disgusting.”

Viktor’s confused eyes meet Yakov’s and he waves him over with a hand. Yakov usually lets him be these days and he’s wondering what changed. Anyway, Viktor’s kind of tired and he owes Makkachin his midday walk, so he doesn’t mind the small break.

“You forgot, didn’t you,” Yakov grunts when Viktor joins him at the barrier, him still on the ice and leaning against the plastic boards, and Yakov standing on the other side with his arms crossed across his torso.

“Forgot what?” He asks, gulping down mouthfuls of water his coach offered him.

“You do understand that right now you’re Yuri’s biggest inspiration, right? He would be nowhere near his senior debut if he wasn’t pushing for the program you promised him if he makes it.”

So that’s what the salty comments are about these days. Did the boy think Eros and Agape were for him?

Viktor knows what kind of impact skaters his age have on the younger generation. They’re role models, they supply the motivation, the example that hard work pays off. He still remembers meeting Alexei and Stephane for the first time when he was Yuri’s age and how a few words fuelled him to do even better. Remembers the sparks in Yuuri’s eyes when he confessed how Viktor encouraged him to do his best. If he lets the blond youngster down, he’ll shatter a dream, and going by the typhoon strength emotions he carries, Viktor would create an enemy too.

He turns around to observe the small ball lightning crisscrossing on the ice, practicing jumping even higher for a more beautiful arc that would get him extra points. He now remembers what he told him two years ago: if Yuri gets into the senior division without performing quads in competitions, Viktor would reward him with a debut routine.

Yuri held up his end of the bargain.

“Don’t worry, Yakov," he says finally. “I’ll make sure he’s happy.”

“You better,” Yakov mutters behind him. “It’s me who’ll have to deal with his disappointment.”

Viktor nods.

 “Your new routines are coming together well,” Yakov comments then, switching subjects effortlessly. A praise.

Viktor discussed his initial ideas with him but left him out of the creative part of the process. It’s fine; Viktor’s had all the freedom he needed for years, and he considered Yakov more a guide than an actual coach these days. There’s nothing left to learn and nothing ice related he can’t handle, but Yakov looks over everything else because Viktor sometimes forgets: his well-being for example, both physically and mentally.

“Have you been talking to Katsuki?” Yakov gets to the topic he’s most curious about. Of course, he knows Viktor couldn’t base his program on anybody other than him.

“He quit skating.” Viktor’s voice is rougher than intended when he answers.

Yakov scoffs and Viktor refuses to look at him.

“Stop torturing yourself then,” he says in the end. The words hit Viktor hard. He’s too dismissive. Wasn’t he the one who made contact possible for them in the first place? (Even if Viktor didn’t dare to act on it?)

“It’s not a torture,” he insists.

“You’re married to the ice, Viktor. You’ll never see him again if he quit.”

Yakov doesn’t say anything else and Viktor doesn’t know what to answer him. His words are hitting too many painful spots and Viktor knows he’s right. He retreats to the dressing room where Makkachin more than eagerly greets him. He got so used to Viktor’s new timetable that he can now tell when it’s walk time. The promise of playing in the fresh snow is too great and he barks excitedly when Viktor gathers his leash. He pounds to the door as soon before Viktor’s ready to go.

Viktor knows he’s pathetic, he doesn’t need Yakov to remind him. It’s just that… Well. Yuuri, even if for just one night, reminded him what it was like to enjoy himself. He knows that Yuuri will probably never return to skating—athletes rarely manage to come back if they stop professional training—and he knows whatever he feels now will fade with time, but… Viktor wants to remember what his love felt like.

Makkachin scratches the toes of his shoes with desperate paws, a carefully selected stick between his teeth, and demanding to play fetch.

While his dog is dashing through the freezing snow after the stick he threw, Viktor picks his phone from his pocket and sets a reminder for after the Worlds to make sure he remembers the promise he made to Yuri. He has plenty of time before the blond would start training for next season, so he doesn’t need to worry about it now. Viktor doesn’t want to mix the pure feelings he’s nurturing for Yuuri, not at least until he finishes On Love: Agape.

He breaks habit only when he sees Yakov becoming jittery five days before they’re due to leave for the Worlds. He’s just returned from the Junior World Championship with Yuri and a couple of other youngsters, so he’s in full-on competitive mode. Yuri won, but that was to be expected. It was an easy win too, because no one matches the Plisetsky boy on the ice anymore, not within the junior division.

Viktor skates both of his programs perfectly, yet Yakov’s eyebrows burrow deeper than when he was failing this season (personal failures, Viktor means, he’s aware that half a dozen golds can be called anything but) as he contemplates Viktor’s performances. Viktor can feel the change in his manner too, the way he holds himself straight, his chin up, calm and confident and not at all confused as he carries himself through the routines.

He knows exactly who he is now: he’s the prince fighting dragons for the love he holds dear in his heart, even if the feeling isn’t requited. It’s okay, Viktor thinks; Viktor isn’t sure he’d leave his ice castle for him anyway.

* * *

 

There are a bunch of reporters in front of the hotel in Tokyo when they arrive, mostly Japanese and too intimidated by the tall, serious foreigners and the unforgiving expression Yakov bears on his face, so the Russian team that consists of Viktor, Mila, and Georgi’s trio slips through the mass of people quite smoothly. Viktor puts on the smile reserved for cameras and waves, a friendly hello to all the fans that will be watching the news.

Maybe Yuuri Katsuki too.

It’s been a long trip, more than twenty-four hours counting now, and the only thing that keeps Viktor upright are a few hours of sleep he chased between Beijing to Tokyo and the large cups of coffee Yakov pushed into everyone’s hands when they stumbled out of passport and Visa control. It’s still morning in Japan and it passes in a blur: checking in the hotel, checking in the stadium too (dodging more reporters), drawing their numbers for the short programs, meeting and greeting the fellow skaters, then finally returning to their hotel after lunch.

By that time sleep escapes Viktor and he feels restless instead. Yoyogi Stadium is situated right on the edge of an enormous park, and Viktor risks slipping out to enjoy the early spring sun that felt like a caress on his cheek after the chilly winter weather that dominates in St Petersburg. The journalists are mostly focusing on the arriving guests, not the ones leaving, and he manages to avoid them when three taxis pull up with the Canadian team. That exhibitionist skater he recognizes from previous competitions, the one with the uproarious demeanor, is throwing quite a show posing for the photographers with his girlfriend.

Viktor literally gets lost in the park, it’s so stunningly beautiful. There’s something serene about Japanese parks, about the carefully constructed compositions: every tree, every bush, flower, pond, path, even the wildlife has a purpose. A purpose to bring peace, to help relax, and to help recover. Viktor has seen photos in guidebooks and online but has never been to one himself. Now though, when he finally experiences it, he can’t get enough of it. It’s not just beautiful, it’s silent too. It’s like the people here pay their respect to nature by staying quiet.

He watches people sitting in the grass with their legs crossed, reading or sleeping. Others sitting on benches, drawing something, playing with their dogs… Viktor imagines Makka would love this place too. He isn’t as energetic as he used to be, but he still can’t refuse the touch of soft grass under his paws or rubbing his back all over it.

He doesn’t know where he is by the time a security personnel comes up to him. Viktor doesn’t understand what he’s trying to say, so he’s switching to basic English that’s impossible to misinterpret.

“Exit! Exit!”

As Viktor looks around, he sees that the few people who remain around him are now heading towards the same spot he suspects to be a gate, so he follows them, figuring that it has to be closing hours. The sun’s setting after all.

It takes him almost an hour to walk his way back, walking around the park, eternally grateful that he lives in the era of smartphones and Google maps. He doesn’t feel like having room service alone in his room, so by the time he passes the third tiny ramen stall on the street, he makes up his mind. Communication is almost always a futile attempt in English in this country, so he discreetly points at the first item on the small, unreadable menu board, his only hope that it won’t be something intolerably spicy.

“Onegaishimasu,” he adds when he lowers his finger and puts on a convincing smile. It’s one of the few words he knows in most European and Asian languages to make situations like this one a little easier.

What he receives is an enormous bowl of steaming hot soup with pork belly, egg, mushroom, strange lettuce, green veggies, seaweed, lots of noodles, and no hardcore spices. It’s so delicious he needs to force himself not to go overboard with the noodles. He can’t just show up with a bloated stomach tomorrow in his skin-tight costume, and not only because Yakov will skin him alive.

By the time he recognizes his hotel in the distance, he wants nothing but a hot shower and his bed. He’s glad he’s exhausted enough to sleep through the normal Japanese night hours.

The next day starts early and Viktor easily falls into the familiar routine. The opening ceremony isn’t mandatory to sit through, but it’s a great opportunity to build team image, so he goes. He’s friendly and inviting, answers questions that the eager members of the press ask, and stays in the background the rest of the time. A quiet, smiley presence that shows how well Viktor Nikiforov is doing, even if his veteran age is an unavoidable hot topic again.

Yakov doesn’t regard him with a scoff and Viktor doesn’t expect him to. The old man notoriously can’t stand the way he handles his public appearances, but he can’t call Viktor out on his behavior in front of other people.

He’s way too busy with Georgi anyway, whose phone is glued to his ear, in the middle of a heated argument in muffled Russian. The coach snatches the phone right out of his hand the moment Georgi’s voice shakes and his lips turn downward. Yakov cuts the call and pockets the device, and Georgi lets out a strangled whine. Another heartbreak is on the corner.

“Anya will think I did that on purpose!” He exclaims, horrified.

“You, my friend, need to learn what’s the difference between love and manipulation,” Mila butts in very helpfully.

Viktor secretly agrees with her, his own history of disastrous relationships a prime example of love versus manipulation… Except he learned from his mistakes, unlike Georgi, who still thinks the power of love can better a terrible human being.

Viktor doesn’t stay around to see how the argument ends. Instead, he heads closer to the rink. Japan is well known for its innovative designs that don’t only reflect on unusual skating elements, but also on cool pyrotechnics, realistic animations, cute mascots, and sometimes positively questionable music choices. Mostly he just wants to put distance between himself and everything that can possibly disturb his state of mind right now – in peace with his short program. He knows he’s treading on thin ice, and the last thing he needs to see is Georgi’s depressed, lovesick face.

Yakov still lets him be. Georgi competes before him and he’s trying to salvage the wounds Anya tore open, but there’s just as much Yakov’s capable to do. By the time he is due on the ice, Viktor’s already in the waiting area reserved for the skaters. His score leaves little hope that he’ll pocket a medal tomorrow, and Yakov returns to Viktor’s side with as stoic a face as he can manage.

He’s eyeing Viktor up too as he approaches, he can tell. Probably looking for cracks on his carefully constructed mask, he thinks. It’s almost comical how Yakov’s top three male skaters are all emotionally overcharged like destiny is trying to teach this ungainly, insensitive man a lesson here.

“And people wonder why I’m balding…” He takes the seat next to Viktor after he’s done measuring him.

“Why, I’m good today.” Viktor offers quietly to ease the pressure on his coach’s shoulders.

Yakov wraps an arm around his shoulder and Viktor lets it bump against his.

“I’m not asking you to save the world today, Vitya. Just get through it fine,” he says.

“Sure thing, coach.”

There is no further advice, no smart remarks or suggestions. Just a solid presence looking after him, making sure nothing disturbs him before his time on the ice.

They make a good team. They don’t need to speak to understand each other.

It’s another half an hour until he’s called for the final warm-up. He moves to one of the available mattresses until then, starting his routine of stretching. It’s a ritual he doesn’t take half-heartedly anymore. His body is more prone to injuries than when he was younger, and taking care of himself has never been as essential as lately.

When it’s his turn, he eases on the ice with a soft smile on his lips, the charming prince’s persona meant for the audience.

He hasn’t felt so comfortable in his costume in months: black, tight-fitting pants and a top woven with exquisite silver threads, tiny mirror beads and flitters across his shoulders and breasts, and as he reflects the light back as he moves, he looks like a knight in sparkling armor.

The arena falls silent as the music fills the empty space. Gentle, melancholic piano leads Viktor into a quad loop. The cheers erupting and making him proud equal to the sadness that’s persisting inside because the most important pair of eyes is not on him.

He slices the dragon’s head off in a death drop and lands into a sit spin, transforms it so his free leg stretches out behind him as he pushes himself to stand up. The silence in his mind is welcome after months of internal torture. The only thing he’s hearing today is the scraping of sharp blades as they carve flowers in the ice.

Viktor gains first place with what reporters later will label as an outstanding score, and no one after him manages to get close enough to make Yakov sweat. He puts his smile on for the sake of the cameras waiting, focusing on his face around the kiss and cry, and accepts the reporters’ praise and answers a few questions regarding his expectations for the day after tomorrow.

All he wants is a hot shower and something fancy for dinner, and that’s exactly what he gets once he’s back to his hotel room five hours later. The room service menu that offers artfully composed sushi platters tempts him, and he eats them sloppily with his fingers, too lazy to practice chopstick skills, on his bed, dipping them into soy sauce mixed with the tiiiniest bit of wasabi. He’s watching some Japanese variety show until he falls asleep because the hotel doesn’t offer any international channels.

He has nothing to do tomorrow and he’s tempted to go back to Yoyogi Park one more time, explore the areas he didn’t have time for on day one, but Chris crosses those plans out with a text.

_Come shop with me!_

Viktor barely has time to realize he forgot his best friend is competing too before he receives Chris’s exact location and a photo of him holding what looks like a giant cup of fluffy pink Starbucks frappe.

_Who thought cherry blossoms had flavor lol_

Trust Chris to choose the world’s most expensive city to satisfy his shopping desires, but Viktor is such a comfort shopper…  He is physically incapable to say no to such an invitation and Chris knows that very well. Plus, some of the Japanese guys he saw on the streets are amazingly fashionable, so… he might actually find something he fancies on himself.

Chris is in Shibuya and within walking distance. It’s one of those fancy shopping districts Viktor’s been recommended to visit several times before. They’re doing mindless window shopping for the most part, except when they find something that fits their unusual European-sized bodies. They stop in a place that sells tight-fitting shirts with the cutest miniature patterns: tiny dogs and pine trees and red apples with bites missing and bright yellow sunflowers. Chris gets a necktie for Mr. Catsitter with little kittens embroidered on it, and Viktor chooses one with little grey elephants.

“Good luck charm?” Chris asks with an unusually gentle smile on his face. They’ve been shopping mostly in comfortable silence until now, neither of them in the mood for conversation, but Viktor can see now that it’s probably only him, that Chris’s been looking for an opportunity to subtly drill him.

Viktor glances at the tie and then back at Chris in wonder.

“Elephants with their trunks up are meant to bring luck,” Chris elaborates.

Viktor didn’t know that.

“It’s cute,” he answers softly, and he doesn’t know if he means the sentiment or the design.

“Right,” Chris says, his hazel eyes matching the wonder in Viktor’s.

Viktor knows that face better than he wishes he did. It has concern written all over it.

“I’m doing alright,” he says before Chris can put any of his suspicions into words.

“Do you even know what day it is?” Chris raises an eyebrow in response.

The third day of Worlds, Viktor wants to say, but he knows that isn’t the answer his friend would be satisfied with.

Chris pays for his shirts and the kitten tie, and also for Viktor’s stuff, then drags him into a fancy coffee shop across the road. He gets a cappuccino for himself and earl grey with lavender for Viktor… because he knows just how Viktor needs his tea sometimes.

He pushes Viktor into a sofa in a darker corner of the room and sits next to him. A girl, dressed in posh black trousers, white shirt, black waistcoat, and bowtie serves their drinks just after they settle, but that’s the last thing on Chris’s mind.

He turns towards Viktor and lets his eyes wander again, and Viktor feels naked in front of him. He does his best to stand the force of the glance when Chris finds his eyes finally, but he feels his defenses slowly crumble down. His friend cradles his face in his hands, with his fingers fitting around either side of his cheeks, and Viktor knows he’s showing signs of his discomfort.

“You’re not doing alright,” he assesses bluntly. Chris knows there’s no point avoiding the inevitable with Viktor. “You look like you didn’t have a bite nor a good night’s sleep in months.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Viktor goes for a light tone of voice, but he ends up sounding way too raspy to pass it as such. He doesn’t feel bad, he actually feels better than during the Europeans.

“I’m just so fucking worried about you, Viktor, you don’t even know. It was heart-breaking to watch you skate yesterday.”

Was it? He didn’t watch his performance yet and avoided every screen featuring him in the arena, so he wouldn’t know.

“You look like… I mean, you’re scaring me, Viktor. What’s wrong?”

 “I’m getting old, Chris,” Viktor says in the end. There’s no point pretending with his best friend. He has a special detector built in his nose specialized to smell bullshit from a mile away, and he always gets every secret out of Viktor eventually.

There’s a pool of emotions swirling in Viktor’s chest and he randomly picks a problem, because he doesn’t know where to start. He kept ignoring them after he failed to recognize and to sort each of them for what they were, but maybe today’s the day to do it. Chris is the right person. He trusts him. And indeed, extra credit to Chris, he doesn’t snort at the melodramatic exclamation.

“I’m old and I have nothing left to give my fans, nothing to surprise them with.” A Yuuri-free topic is safe to start with, he decides. “My programs have never been so dull. I only have my pair of skates, so when I retire… even those will be useless. And Makkachin is very old now, Chris. What will I do without him?” He averts his eyes from the warm hazels of Chris’s. He can’t look at him as he feels his own eyes sting uncomfortably. He’s searching for the best words to say next, but they're not what comes. “Then I’ll have absolutely nothing left.”

This is stupid. His troubles are so insignificant compared to others, Chris’s just wasting his time here.

“You’ll have me. And Mr. Feltsman,” Chris says, determined, not releasing Viktor’s face for a chance to fold in on himself. “And you’ll get a new puppy, you can get a dozen and start a puppy sanctuary or whatever. Start coaching. Support someone the way Yakov is supporting you.”

Viktor’s breath hitches and Chris finally releases him, but then wraps him up in a tight hug, one arm circling around his back and his free hand gently pushing his face into his shoulder.

“I love you,” he mutters softly so only Viktor can hear him. “And as long as at least one person loves you, you’re not allowed to dismiss yourself like this.”

Viktor nods because there’s nothing else he can do. He stares at the potted plant next to their sofa, a tiny tree with tiny branches and tiny leaves. A bonsai. The Japanese love tiny things, he figures. Maybe he’ll get a tiny toy poodle when Makka’s gone.

Viktor doesn’t cry. He doesn’t think he’s able to anymore. He was crying too much when he was younger and he probably drained the pond of tears that was assigned to him when he was born. He folds his arms around Chris though and lets his shoulder be his comfort for a minute longer.

“Why don’t you call Yuuri?” Chris asks later when they’re both cradling their cups of lukewarm beverages. “I’ve seen that Japanese reporter in the arena, the one that follows him everywhere. I’m sure he can get you a phone number or something.”

Viktor shakes his head. He’s fine with just the memory of the banquet. It’s what’s helping him stay afloat, and he can already feel his initial obsession fading. He’ll skate On Love: Eros and Agape in the next season, and he’ll be ready to let him go after that.

“It’s a pity,” Chris sighs. “We competed for a year or two as juniors, and he always looked like he was living in another world, if you know what I mean? Kind of like you… He was always friendly, but he never really looked happy. Not like when he was with you.”

Viktor thinks of the videos he’s seen of Yuuri, a stoic figure almost as cold as the ice he’s dancing on, with a thick layer of serious concentration on his face that sometimes morphed into worry, adding tiny wrinkles on the center of his forehead and in the corners of his mouth. Then he remembers that same face lighting up with emotions, bright eyes and sunshine smile focusing on Vik—

No.

Viktor doesn’t need these memories right now.

Chris’s chatty persona surfaces after a while, and he shares more secrets about Mr. Catsitter than what Viktor necessarily wants to know, but he appreciates the distraction.

When they finish a full circle in Shibuya and find themselves in front of their hotel, they share dinner in the restaurant downstairs and then go their separate ways. Viktor spends the evening reading a new book he bought at the airport to distract himself for the duration of the flights. He falls asleep with the lights on and doesn’t even wake up when he drops the book on his collarbones.

Viktor tries to ignore the idea that Chris planted in his mind: that he might have more similarities with Yuuri than their love for skating and dancing. He only lets it spread in his mind when he’s standing on the ice again, the cold seeping under his skin where his white shirt doesn’t cover his chest. The princely, pink see-through tuxedo isn’t providing much warmth either.

Four and half minutes later, he’s the five times world champion and his smile is fake for an audience that doesn’t accept anything less than pure happiness. He forces himself to look excited, but as he’s sitting between Chris and Otabek Altin in the interview room, he feels the opposite. Hungry journalists want to know what his plans are for the next season, and even though he’s got both of his programs mostly sorted, he isn’t sure what to say. Is he staying for one more year? Maybe it’s best to retire now than to embarrass himself with another mediocre theme. Fans will be disappointed, but Yuri Plisetsky will give them a different kind of spark to look forward to.

His words are carefully filtered, a diplomatic answer that he has plans, but he hasn’t decided what to call his new theme yet. Yakov can be proud of his answer this once.

It’s a torture waiting around for the competition to wrap up because there are still two days left. As the five times world champion, it’s his obligation to give an exceptional performance at the exhibition and mingle with the sponsors at the banquet before he runs back to St Petersburg, so he braces everything that comes his way.

He misses Makkachin so much he tosses and turns in bed, unable to sleep. He ends up fishing for the tissue box that was custom made ages ago to look like his poodle. It’s the only way he can take him to the competitions. It’s really more like a stuffed animal rather than a rigid box, and Viktor curls up with it under the blanket.

It’s a blessing when the plane finally takes off three days later, and Viktor watches the large metropolis shrink smaller and smaller beneath him.

He knows he needs to get a grip on his gloominess when Yakov pulls him aside in front of the airport back in St Petersburg after he hails a taxi.

“Vitya,” he says, his voice unusually gentle. “Talk to me when you’re ready. Whatever’s going on, we’ll sort it out. I won’t let you into the next season looking like this.”

Like the good father figure he tries to be for Viktor, he rests a heavy hand on his shoulder. Viktor smiles weakly, avoiding his eyes. Yakov means well, but talking to him is never as comforting as talking to Chris, and he was even avoiding Chris after their tour in Shibuya, so… Maybe another day.

“Alright,” he says, even if he knows that this conversation may never actually happen. He appreciates that he means well, though. “Thanks, Yakov. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He turns on his heels and lets the taxi driver take care of his luggage, disappearing in the car. Makkachin is at home waiting for him, and that thought keeps him awake for the duration of the ride.

* * *

 

Viktor falls back into his routine the next morning, even though the jetlag makes it difficult. He jogs to the home rink with Makkachin at dawn with the purpose of leaving after sunset, a few breaks in-between for the poodle’s sake.

He dips into On Love: Agape again, but something doesn’t feel right. In the week and a half he spent not focusing on those shy feelings, he lost the little control he had over them. He’s literally unable to finish the routine without becoming unbearably miserable. His chest and guts contract painfully and he gasps for air, his last step sequence so graceless it feels like an impostor’s poor imitation. Listening to his better judgment, he sits it out on one of the benches far away from Yakov and the rest of the Russian team.

What is _happening_?

Should he try Eros instead? That routine needs a completely different set of emotions. Easier ones.

Yakov is watching him. Is this the heartbreak that he meant for Viktor to have since the beginning?

Stupid, stupid glass hearts, and Yakov’s stupid theory.

Yakov’s walking around the rink to Viktor’s side now, so he picks himself up from the bench before he gets anywhere close.

“I’m going home,” Viktor says and he directs it at his coach, but the entire rink falls silent and looks at him like an alien abducted him and stole his body, using it as a temporary vessel.

Viktor Nikiforov never skips practice after all.

He’s out of the door before Yakov can catch up to him. Doesn’t even bother to properly leash Makka before they’re out of the building, just grabs his backpack and exits with the poodle at his heel.

He takes the longer route home so Makka can release all of his excess energy, but halfway to his apartment, he realizes it’s really for his own sake. Every breath of chilly air he breathes in helps to soothe the dull pain in his upper body.

It’s not even nine o’clock when he gets home, so he makes oatmeal for breakfast, then decides to clean the kitchen. The rest of the place is in a desperate need of cleaning too. Viktor is a tidy person, but Makkachin’s constantly shedding hair these days, so he tidies the apartment too. He takes Makka on another, shorter walk, and settles on his couch browsing Netflix.

He ignores Yakov’s calls.

Sometime between two calls, Chris messages him, and it’s basically a string of shocked face emojis and a dozen exclamation marks, followed by a link to YouTube. Then,

 _You’re welcome_ , and an angel face with a halo.

Viktor rolls his eyes, pretty sure that it’s one of those funny cat videos his friend sometimes spams him with, except… It’s not cats. It has a Japanese title that Viktor can’t read, but he knows the figure in the video, has seen him on the screen of his phone so many times he’d recognize him in his sleep.

Yuuri Katsuki.

Viktor can tell from the hectic, disorganized movements of the camera and the suppressed whispers in the background that the recording was made in secret. There might be music in the background too, but it’s so soft Viktor isn’t sure it’s actually there or he’s imagining it. It doesn’t matter because the melody plays in Viktor’s head loud and clear. Stammi Vicino.

Yuuri looks completely different than in any other videos Viktor watched with him: radiating confidence and serenity, and carrying the gentlest expression on his face. Every jump is perfect, every quad landed with grace that Viktor hardly sees on ice. He’s lost in the music and the music is lost in him, and he’s skating like there’s an invisible partner right there next to him, exactly how Viktor has always meant to skate it too. He’s full of hope and full of love, a prince that beat the dragon and won the heart of the one person he did it for.

Viktor finds himself watching it over and over again until he manages to get past the paralyzing shock.

How can someone say he can’t skate and finish University simultaneously, then analyze Viktor’s choreography so in-depth that he’s able to put together a perfect copy? And perform it better than Viktor ever did? Even nail the quadruple flip, which is Viktor’s signature jump, and he hasn’t seen Yuuri ever attempt it in competition?!

Yuuri’s arms are in perfect position around the invisible partner during the entire time and Viktor imagines himself slipping between them, holding him close as he always meant to.

Surely Yuuri wouldn’t be skating Viktor’s program if he still didn’t have tangible feelings for him, even if it’s only the distant admiration of a fan. He spent weeks upon weeks to master it, and that devotion strikes Viktor’s heart. Devotion and raw talent, because no one should believe for a moment that the level of difficulty Viktor sets for himself is easy to copy. He doubts that even Chris has the necessary skills, and he usually places second behind him at competitions.

Yuuri is wasting serious talent.

Viktor doesn’t want that to happen.

Yuuri wants Viktor to be his coach?

Maybe he can do it.

Maybe Chris is right.

He has to do it right now, before he has time to change his mind.

He scribbles down a list of things he needs to do before he leaves. Yuuri is in Japan so that’s where he’s going, and he’s more than willing to pay extra to get there as soon as possible. Special Visa application for athletes and coaches, check. Last minute appointment at the vet so Makkachin can get the necessary health certificates to travel, check. Plane tickets for both himself and Makka because there’s no way he’s traveling in the cargo, check. Special delivery pick-up this afternoon to transport his most necessary stuff to Japan, check.

It isn’t until he returns from the vet with Makkachin, his papers in his pocket, and collapses on the sofa that the full force of his decision hits him.

He’s been playing with the idea of retiring or at least skipping a season, but moving to Japan seals it. _Moving to Japan!_ He’s never lived anywhere but in St Petersburg and the idea of a new country is as scary as it’s exciting. It may be either the best or the worst decision of his life.

A phone call. Bureaucracy can be a pain in the backside, but there’s always the right amount of money that speeds things up, and Viktor receives a document entirely in Japanese that should be enough to get him legally into the country until his Visa is ready. It shouldn’t take more than forty-eight hours.

The delivery guy shows up at midday and he provides the sturdy paper boxes Viktor needs to pack up. He’s got the stuff he wants to take prepared by then: mostly clothes, sports gear, books, Makkachin’s toys and dog bed, and a couple of more things he isn’t sure he can replace in Japan. He just needs to chuck everything into the branded boxes and provide the driver with the delivery address.

He’s got that ready too. His initial research months ago told him that Yuuri lived in a town called Hasetsu, and he also remembers his invitation to his parents’ hot spring. Their website is in Japanese only, but he figures the place is an inn, so it’s logical to stay there until he finds something better to rent. With a bit of fumbling and the not very effective help of the clueless delivery person, he manages to transliterate the address into English. The only hope he has is that the site he used is accurate enough so his belonging will actually turn up at Yu-Topia, not in Brazil or something.

The delivery guy is on the road within forty minutes, and Viktor’s left with a small hand luggage with just the essentials in it: a set of clean clothes, toothpaste and toothbrush, deodorant, Makkachin’s water and food bowls, dry food and snacks for Makkachin, a book to read, phone charger, some Japanese money he brought back from the Worlds, laptop, credit cards, all of his and his poodle’s documents, and one of those comfy pillows that go around his neck on the plane. He won’t have the capacity to carry anything else because Makka will need to stay in a pet cage during the flights. That will be difficult enough to carry.

His flight leaves at six in the evening, and he has just enough time to stop by the rink and ask Yakov to join him outside for a minute. They end up taking a long walk in the snowy city, Viktor trying to collect his mind and give him as good an explanation as he can. He can tell that his coach doesn’t take his decision very well. He’s convinced that Viktor acts out of despair, that if he would just let Yakov help he wouldn’t need to move to another continent, wouldn’t even consider putting his career on hold.

Viktor doesn’t blame him. He doesn’t understand himself any better than Yakov does, so he can’t point fingers at him. All he can do is make sure Yakov knows how much he appreciates him, and he hopes that the man will be able to forgive him eventually.

Yakov Feltsman isn’t just any coach after all. He’s the only coach Viktor’s had, and he owes him the world. He’s the closest thing he has to a family.

He’ll understand. If everything works out with Yuuri, he’ll understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> onegaishimasu = please
> 
>  
> 
>    
> I hope you enjoy the journey so far! The next chapter is coming as soon as possible :D
> 
> The WYWWM? gif is done by me, feel free to share it on tumblr or on any other media with a link to this fic.


	3. every day is a new beginning...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hasetsu is like a mysterious town in a weird dream where nothing is happening according to Viktor's expectations. if Yuuri hasn't been confusing enough until now, he sure is doing an excellent job messing with Viktor while he's settling in. Unlike him, his mother is the friendliest person in the world, but she's also kind of creepy with the unlimited kindness she showers Viktor with. Barely anyone speaks English and Viktor's doomed for solitude most of the time, something he's used to but something that never felt so chokingly obvious before. And if Viktor's life wasn't difficult enough already, his past finds a way to haunt him even in this unknown little city...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are growing longer and longer. I try to set the limit around 10-12k, but there's so much to tell and due to the structure I build I can't just chop a chapter in half. This one is a brief 17k. Hope you don't mind :)
> 
> Anyhow... This one is just a bit less depressing than the last one. We'll get to the point where the happy and depressing moments will balance out, but both Viktor and Yuuri are still far away from that point. Viktor's in Hasetsu at least, so that means things are in motion finally. There're a lot of blanks to fill in a 12 episode anime's storyline, and I'll be focusing on the blind spots mostly, using the scenes in the anime (minus the competitions, obviously) as points of reference to make it easier to navigate on the timeline.
> 
> Playlist:  
>  Anthony Greninger: Peace on Earth  
>  Viktor's FS: Ensemble FOVE: Stammi Vicino  
>  Tom Tykwer: Cloud Atlas Sextet  
>  Tom Tykwer: Cloud Atlas: All Boundaries are Conventions

****

Fukuoka is exactly what St Petersburg was like some hours ago: freezing cold, covered in snow, and dimmed by a thick coat of grey clouds. Melancholic. But there’s something distinctively different about it that makes it look stunning at the same time: under the layer of sparkling white snow, the trees are dressed in tiny pink blossom – like sweet icing accidentally poured on cotton candies in the candy factory.

The whiteness also nearly blinds Viktor, so he squints his eyes as they follow Makkachin determinedly exploring the park and all its foreign scents.

The drastic turn in the Japanese weather is shocking. Just a couple of days ago Viktor didn’t need more than a trench coat in Tokyo, but look at the world around him now. As if Viktor didn’t only ship half of his life here but also the weather.

Shipping and boxes, by the way: An email from the delivery service confirmed that his belongings had been loaded into a truck at Narita International Airport and were currently on the way to Hasetsu. A rush of relief washed through Viktor when he found the message after he landed in Fukuoka. He got Hasetsu’s postcode right, which is little achievement really, but one that makes Viktor almost happier right now than all the golds he ever won.

If Viktor’s calculations are correct based on the time the email has been initially sent, the truck shouldn’t arrive much later than himself.

He just needs to make sure Makkachin is happy first. Viktor is ready to collapse after almost a day of traveling that involved two connections and several hours of useless waiting around, but he’s still in better shape than his dog. The nine hours flight from Moscow to Seoul, spent in the tiny pet carrier, left Makka grouchy and uncooperative. Although he was happily stretching his legs in the terminal in Korea waiting to board the next flight, it took Viktor twenty minutes and half the box of dog treats he brought for the entire trip to get him back in the cage.

They still have a train ride left from Fukuoka to Hasetsu, and Viktor has no idea whether the station staff will allow Makka to travel on a leash, so he lets him prance around in the park some more. In the meanwhile, he fills one of his bowls with bottled water he bought at the airport, and the other with the dry food Makkachin didn’t fancy touching as long as he remembered that yummier treats came from Viktor’s bag before.

When Viktor decides it’s time to go, it becomes a new challenge to balance all of his belongings in just two hands: the large, heavy shoulder bag full of the very useful stuff he now curses himself for not packing up in the delivery boxes, the pet carrier, Makka himself on the leash, and his phone so he can navigate the short way from the park to the train station. He could just take a taxi, but honestly, the muscles in his thighs feel too tingly from sitting in uncomfortable seats for too long to give up on a chance to do anything but that.

There’re no restrictions on doggy transport so boarding goes smoothly and no one has to listen to Makka’s resentful yipping, and the train ride’s fine too. But by the time they reach Hasetsu, Viktor really is at his limit; it took tremendous effort not to fall asleep to the old train’s rhythmic jerks on the tracks.

He is very lucky to have found such fast connections all the way here. It could have taken twice the twenty-one hours, but even though longer waiting times between the flights would have meant more rest time (maybe he could even have stayed in a hotel to sleep properly), he preferred to get here as soon as possible. He allowed himself no time to panic about this. About giving up his entire life to do something he’s never done before in a place he’s never been before with people he’s never seen before. It’s insane what he’s doi—

No, no, no. No thinking. Get out of the small station, Viktor, and think of how you’ll get to Yu-Topia instead.

He has no idea what time it is in Japan, but the sun is going down already… Well, he thinks so, from what he can tell from under the layer of clustered clouds.

He navigates through the station clumsily with all his stuff and Makkachin. A quick search in Google Maps shows him that Yu-Topia is a twenty-five minutes’ walk away, which isn’t the end of the world, but Viktor could just as well sign his death certificate if he attempted to walk it right now. There’re a couple of unoccupied taxis lined up in front of the exit and Viktor prays for a kind driver who will take his dog without an issue.

“Inu… okay?” Viktor asks coyly. He knows this one Japanese word very well by now, having heard it at the Japanese customs so many times earlier. Now, that was a real nightmare… Trying to find an interpreter at the airport (because no one understood neither his English nor his Russian. He didn’t dare try French, what were the chances…?) who’d confirm that the dog’s Russian health certificate was indeed what Viktor claimed it to be, stating that he wasn’t bringing in any unwanted diseases.

The driver is fine with it, even helps Viktor get both the cage and the luggage in the car.

“Where?” He asks in heavily accented English after Viktor settles in his seat.

“Yu-Topia, please!” He answers gratefully.

“Onsen?” He asks brightly and then rephrases the short question after he has a look at Viktor’s puzzled face. “Hot spring?”

“Yes,” Viktor says and allows a small smile.

The ride doesn’t take longer than ten minutes, but the struggle to keep his eyes open resurfaces.

 “Yu-Topia,” the driver announces all too soon, a very polite but suggestive way to let Viktor know they arrived.

Right. Viktor fishes in his large shoulder bag for the leftover Japanese money he brought back from the Worlds and trusts the driver to take what he needs. He doesn’t understand the price he’s told and it takes him too long to figure out what note is what anyway, so.

There we go. Money paid, sleeping Makkachin woken up, luggage and cage on the street, attractive Japanese wooden gate with colorful lanterns open and inviting. Viktor’s guts knot painfully tightly.

He’s here. Yuuri Katsuki is here too, somewhere. He’s about to meet the person he’s been obsessing over for months. What will Viktor tell h—

Makka’s pulling on the leash, pulling on Viktor too, and Viktor follows him into the front garden, ungracefully dragging his belongings behind him until they stop in front of the entrance.

“Stay,” he tells the dog and drops the remaining treats in front of him. Soon he’ll get better food. He might have to find a supermarket to buy something if his truck doesn’t show up with Makkachin’s boxes soon. He’ll see. But first, he has to get himself through this door.

He takes a deep breath. Then another. One more. He reminds himself that he’ll need to go inside at one point, so he forces his legs to step forward, his arm to lift, and his hand to pull the thin paper door open. Goodness, he hasn’t felt this nervous since the first time he had a real shot at the top of the podium.

The inn looks charming. Friendly. Homey. Warm, with all its oddities. They aren’t really oddities, Viktor figures of course, but they’re so different from the solid, serious stone architecture in Russia that Viktor can’t help but stare. Walls made of paper, floors made of polished hardwood, strange, graphic decorations hanging off the walls, wending machines between the doors, cute little packages lining up around a large cactus on a table… All this décor that screams tradition but means nothing to him.

“Irasshaimase!” A female voice shouts from someplace Viktor can’t see, and a few seconds later a tiny lady with a friendly face and warm eyes manoeuver out from the entryway opposite of him.

The lady stops for a second when she sees him, chestnut eyes turning large and round, exactly like how Viktor remembers from what feels like a lifetime ago… in the Finals when he accidentally bumped into Yuuri. He wonders if foreigners are a rare sight here and that’s the reason she’s so surprised. He definitely stands out with his silver hair and blue eyes.

“Welcome!” She switches to English when her initial awe passes.

“Konnichiwa,” he answers in his version of pre-practiced Japanese. He continues in English for the lack of vocabulary, “I’m Viktor Nikiforov. I’m looking for Yuuri Katsuki.”

“Yes. I am Katsuki Hiroko. Mother.”

A warm smile spreads on her face as she comes closer, and for Viktor’s purest shock, wraps soft arms around him. She’s still talking to him, but in Japanese. It doesn’t matter, because Viktor barely hears her over the talkative little shock in his head. People don’t just walk up to Viktor Nikiforov for a hug after all.

“Sorry, my English is not good enough,” she adds when Viktor doesn’t answer her in any form.

Viktor doesn’t mind; he suspected that he won’t be able to communicate with many people in Hasetsu anyway.

“I don’t speak Japanese at all,” he confesses. No surprise here. The two of them really stand as equals in this conversation.

She dismisses his apology with another smile and a wave of her hand, shows him where to leave his bag, dog carrier, and shoes, then pulls him further into the house. He gets introduced to “Katsuki Toshiya, father”, then he’s ushered out of the inn and through a small corridor that leads to a changing room. It’s warm and humid in here, just what Viktor’s frozen bones are in need of.

“You are cold and tired,” Hiroko tells him like she’s reading his mind. “Relax in the water.”

Oh. The baths. It’s strange that this is the first place he’s being taken to, even if this is what he looks like he needs. He made such a statement that he came to see Yuuri that he thought… his mom would tell him?

Viktor gets a fresh towel and two pieces of green garments (they’re called a jinbei, he learns, traditional clothing that men wear at home) with instructions on how to put them on, and he also receives a basic explanation of the bath rules.

He needs a moment to wake up from the dazed shock after the lady leaves him be. She doesn’t even know him and she’s so friendly! Or wait for a second, her son is one of the top figure skaters in the world, so if she follows his career at all, she’d have seen Viktor’s face on television a few times.

He hears barking in the distance… Makkachin! He needs food and water. Viktor wants to go back and make sure his dog has everything he needs, but it’s rude to reject Hiroko’s invitation to take a bath, right…?

A pair of old men are eyeing him sideways and Viktor realizes he’s acting a bit weird. He gets rid of his street clothes and shuts them into one of the small, colorful lockers, and heads to the showers as instructed before taking to the pools.

He’ll soak a little… Then he’ll sort out Makka and book a room in the little Yu-Topia inn, wait for his delivery to arrive… He’ll just give himself a few minutes here, really. He does feel sticky and stinky after a day of non-stop traveling…

There are little pools indoors, but Viktor chooses the prettier one outside. The air is freezing around his naked skin; he shivers. Getting into the water is a longer procedure than expected. It’s piping hot and he needs a few minutes to gradually warm his body up to tolerate the heat. Though it’s very comfy when he gets used to it… He props himself against the wall of rocks on the far side.

His muscles relax one by one, and Viktor’s drowsiness returns with full force. He remembers Hiroko warning him not to keep his head too close to the surface of the water… The hot steam will get to his head, making him dizzy. Well… too late to worry about that now. He could fall asleep right in this instant… Maybe he can close his eyes for just a few moments… No more than that. It feels sooo nice—

No, he can’t do that, can’t sleep yet. Makkachin is his responsibility and he also needs to find Yuuri. He sits up straighter and adjusts the used towel on his forehead. It’s wet from the showers and it’s comfortingly cool against his heated skin.

Viktor needs to figure out what to say to Yuuri when he finally meets him. He thought he’d be making plans on the way here, but he kept putting it off, too nervous… And now his brain is useless.

If only it wasn’t so hard to focus in this humid, hot air…

“Vi… Viktor!”

Yuuri’s voice. Viktor tries to focus. Yuuri’s staring, almost gaping at him from where he’s standing across the pool.

He’s more adorable than Viktor remembers with his tent-like jacket, socked feet, fogged up glasses, and messy hair.

He can’t explain why he thinks it’s a good idea to stand up abruptly. Maybe it’s the exhaustion and the hot steam he should blame. Anyhow, he’s standing in front of Yuuri – buck naked, arm stretched towards him, in what, invitation to sashay over and reciprocate the gesture? – announcing that he’s his new coach and that he’ll make him win the GP this year.

Then, just as abruptly as he stands up, he feels the blood drain from his head, and he stumbles while his vision struggles to stay clear. His head feels too heavy and his skin tingles. Yes, Hiroko was saying something about this too.

This isn’t exactly how he wanted this meeting to go.

“Viktor!” Yuuri’s voice, as he says his name again, carries a different kind of surprise. He watches the heavily clothed figure making it around the edge of the pool and offering a hand to steady him.

He isn’t sure how he ends up in the jinbei and in the restaurant, but he’s aware that Yuuri’s there with him, and so is Makkachin, whose breath as he licks Viktor’s face smells like pork flavored dog food.

Someone fed him. Good. Someone wants Viktor to eat as well. There’s a collection of little plates arranged on the table he’s sitting at. He gets a glass of water and it helps him fight his way back into consciousness long enough to realize he’s starving.

When was the last time he ate real food? Was it the oatmeal back in St Petersburg for breakfast… more than a day ago? No, he did have a meal on the flight from Moscow to Seoul too. It’s been coffee only since then.

“Eat, Vicchan,” Hiroko says when she returns with a warm, tall cup, and when Viktor tastes it, he recognizes it as definitely something alcoholic.

Yuuri, who’s sitting on his heels next to him, makes a strangled noise in reaction to what his mother said. Why, Viktor doesn’t know, but it’s cute nonetheless.

Viktor eats, and when his belly sighs in contentment, he falls asleep right there on the floor, next to the table, between Makka and Yuuri’s knees.

* * *

 

There’s loud conversation when Viktor comes at with an unexpected sneeze… His eyes shoot open hearing Yuuri’s voice so close to him, but it’s his persisting hunger Viktor gives voice to, not the pleasure of hearing him speak. He needs a moment after this little nap… to talk about something neutral, like food, before he explains what he’s doing here so suddenly.

Now that his mind isn’t clouded by exhaustion or dangerously hot steam anymore, he has to start focusing. Planning. He knows exactly what he wants to say, but that has to wait. He can’t just… jump Yuuri in front of his parents and this lady friend that joined them while Viktor was sleeping. He doesn’t want to put Yuuri into a difficult situation; his family doesn’t need to know about the romantic nature of their relationship if there’s a chance Yuuri’s uncomfortable telling them. It wouldn’t be surprising if that was the case.

Instead, he observes Yuuri crawling around the table, finding a spot not quite opposite of Viktor. He looks so completely different from the image he remembers, his body way softer, rounder under baggy clothes – nothing unexpected, really, and still charming. Even if Yuuri still took to the ice every now and then, it was obvious he stopped training professionally. Many dancers and athletes put on weight after such a drastic change in their lifestyle.

What bothers him more is the way Yuuri’s looking at him: as if in complete shock and disbelief, and also like someone who’s never so much as uttered a word to Viktor before.

Weird. But Yuuri’s shy, Viktor reminds himself. It’s best if he sticks to the main purpose he came for, coaching him, until he gets used to the idea that he’s in Hasetsu. He did come without warning after all.

But damn, Yuuri’s making his heart jump more than anything else, especially with the way he fidgets and shimmies when Viktor praises his favorite dish, or the bath, or his family’s little inn. That tiny, timid smile and breathless blush are worth everything.

The food is truly amazing, not just because it’s Yuuri’s favorite – what’s it called again? Katsudon? And everyone is super nice and he doesn’t remember the last time he had this much fun. Viktor lets himself sink into the feeling of happiness a little.

The lady next to him turns out to be Yuuri’s childhood dance instructor, Minako. Great! There’s someone who knows his abilities and weak spots well enough to answer questions if needed. She seems to take Viktor’s devotion as a coach very seriously: she provides loads of useful information which pleases Viktor as much as it horrifies the subject of their discussion.

Strange that talking about such a trivial thing as his weight freaks Yuuri out. Not everyone is born a genetic miracle, and Viktor’s list of champions with this kind of trouble is longer than Yuuri imagines. But again, he is shy. Maybe it’s embarrassing to talk about it with Viktor because he’s a fan? Yet, in that case, shouldn’t Viktor’s opinion be extra precious, coming from, well, Viktor?

However little Yuuri likes it, he has to address the quality of their most vital equipment on ice: his body. Skating is impossible as he’s now. He needs to get back into shape, not because he would aesthetically look less good in tight-fitting costumes, but because they don’t need an injury due to the extra weight on his joints, bones, and muscles that he would carry into every spin and jump. No more katsudon for Yuuri until he wins. Going back to old habits is good, and it shouldn’t be too hard on him. He’s been naughty since he came home, and that must stop.

Apart from this one matter, there are so many other things to discuss! Viktor’s the coach, but Yuuri knows how his body works: he needs to tell him about the diet he usually keeps, the work-out routine he usually follows, the skating plan he has on the ice, what motivates him, what are his demotivators, and so on.

Viktor will make a chart tomorrow, similar to what Yakov keeps of his athletes. They’ll need to measure Yuuri in the morning, and then update the records every day.

A grumpy looking girl who works at the inn (if the style of her outfit is anything to go by) appears in the doorway and brings amazing news: Viktor’s delivery arrived! What a relief that his stuff didn’t end up traveling to the wrong corner of the world, even if he already knew that they at least made it to Japan.

“Can you take it to the room where I’ll be staying?” He asks.

The shock on everyone’s is a warning.

Oh. Maybe Viktor should have found a way to book a room before he arrived. He doesn’t know how these things work in Japan… But their website is all in Japanese, so how ever things work around here, Viktor has no way of knowing.

“Uh, do you not have rooms available right now?” He asks, his voice faltering slightly. He feels the edges of his worry seep through the enthusiasm he’s been showcasing to the family. He makes sure that his smile is unchanging at least.

“No, no, no,” Yuuri’s the first to recover from the awkward silence. He’s looking at the girl in the door kind of desperately. “There’s that room next to mine we never use, right?” He says in English for Viktor’s benefit.

The girl contemplates the frown lines on his forehead for a few moments before she turns around with a roll of her eyes.

“Give me a minute,” she says before she disappears.

Viktor looks around, and for the first time really takes in what’s around him. The restaurant is a modest size with nine tables, and a small bar with a door behind it that must lead to the kitchen (that’s where all of the food came from). Apart from their little group around the table, the place is completely empty. He notices the antique clock in the corner… If he squints his eyes, he can tell it’s almost ten o'clock. It may be that it’s just getting late and the restaurant is ready to close, but what if Viktor’s making a mistake here? What if this isn’t an inn after all?

“It’s all good, Viktor!” Yuuri’s startled voice pulls him from where he’s lying on the rails under his train of thoughts… Viktor remembers to smile when he meets his eyes.

If Yuuri says so. He’ll believe everything he says with that earnest face.

He misses his well-practiced, confident demeanor, but everything is overwhelmingly new and he doesn’t have solutions for unfamiliar situations. Viktor, as much as he hates to admit it, is not very good at being independent, which is ridiculous considering that he left his parents’ house the day he turned eighteen. His life was so simple and repetitive, and he was always surrounded by the same handful of people in St Petersburg, and Yakov, a cushion who was always there the fall back on—

“Thank you. I’ll go sort my boxes out,” he says in the end, a convenient excuse in an attempt to ease the growing pressure in his chest. If Yu-Topia isn’t an inn, then he doesn’t want to misuse the hospitability they’re freely giving.

Minako hisses something to Yuuri in Japanese. Viktor has no chance comprehending it, but it has Yuuri jump on his feet with him simultaneously.

“I’ w-will help you,” he sputters and trots out to the hall in front of him.

Yuuri freezes when he takes in the sight of the two dozen large boxes lining up neatly along the walls. Makkachin, as if recognizing the familiar scent of home in the air, pushes past their legs and paws one of them excitedly.

“I thought, since you have a good ice rink in Hasetsu, I’d stay here rather than drag you back to Russia with me,” Viktor explains.

It isn’t entirely true because Viktor didn’t do any thinking before he impulse-shipped himself to Japan, but now that logic is catching up with him, this sounds reasonable. Yuuri nods beside him.

He doesn’t utter a single word of complaint even when he’s staggering down the corridor with a box full of Viktor’s books. They eventually get everything up into the small room he assigned to Viktor. The task helps Viktor clear his mind of the doubtful thoughts gnawing on him. They’re both breathless by the time they finish, which is no wonder as they had to carry everything up to the second floor.

It’s a very small space; just about the size of his bedroom in St Petersburg, but there he had the rest of the apartment to accommodate too. It’ll be a challenge to fit all of his belongings in here, especially since… wait, there is no furniture?

Yuuri’s still kneeling on the floor next to him as he explains that this is apparently their ballroom.

Ballroom? So that means that it’s probably the largest room in the entire house?! Yuuri’s still looking at him nervously, obviously waiting for some kind of response… Viktor tries a silly joke instead of pursuing the topic of the room, but it falls flat on Yuuri…

That’s when Viktor realizes that it’s just the two of them—plus Makkachin, but there are no secrets in front of Makkachin—that they’re finally alone. Yuuri didn’t come to this conclusion yet from the looks of it, so Viktor crouches in front of him and finally, _finally_ , satisfies the pleading urge to touch him. To show him he didn’t forget, that he isn’t only here to be his coach.

And as he talks, Yuuri’s eyes swell with love but also with shock, and pink blush is tinting his pale skin; he looks like Viktor’s taking his breath away. Viktor knows the effect he has on people when he uses this particularly deep, gentle, flirty tone, but no one ever looked sweeter than him reacting to it. Until he freaks out and runs faster than Makkachin runs from the sight of shampoo bottles.

What? Why is he running away? This level of intimacy is nothing compared to what they shared before.

“Umm… Well… We’re done here, so… Goodnight!” Yuuri stammers as he eventually pulls himself upright again from where he’s sitting in the corridor. His bedroom is next to Viktor’s; Viktor can hear the door sliding, and when he looks curiously, he finds it closed.

He sighs and looks back around in his new room. As he takes in the silence, he feels his smile slip from his face. Nothing is how he imagined. He thought Yuuri would be happy to see him and his family would quietly accept that he randomly showed up, but it looks like it’s actually the other way around.

What was he thinking? That Yuuri would fall back into his arms half a year after the Finals like it was only yesterday? (Viktor knows he’d have done that if their positions were reversed.)

He looks at the mattress-like thing, duvet, and pillow that the girl—Mari, Yuuri’s sister, he learned—placed there while they were relocating the boxes from the entrance hall. There’s no bed to put them on, so what’s the point? He sits on one of the boxes and welcomes Makka’s head propped on his knee as he types away on his phone.

_How do Japanese people use bedding?_

Google showers him with thousands of links and Viktor taps on the top one – something about futons in the title. It goes into an extensive explanation on how and why people sleep on the floor, and there’s even a step-by-step tutorial on how to set up the traditional bedding—mattress, futons, sheets, pillow—and it’s very confusing.

He looks at the pile of stuff next to him and his breath catches in his throat. He’s been in every part of the world, but always with Yakov and always in the safe cocoon of a branded hotel that followed the same kind of uniform that was familiar in Russia.

He takes the pillow from the top of the pile. It’s very heavy and way firmer than a normal feather or foam pillow.

“Makka, you don’t want to sleep alone in here either, right?” He looks at his dog. Makka lifts his head a bit and whines softly which Viktor takes as agreement. Sleeping on the floor sounds way more appealing if they can sleep next to Yuuri.

It’s been a while since he ran. Maybe he had enough time to get over whatever he was nervous about.

He finds the resemblance of a smile in his heart and pushes it on his face, cautiously making his way to the dark door at the end of the corridor. There’s light coming through the edges where the door doesn’t fit perfectly into the frames. Determined, Viktor knocks.

“Yuuri! Let’s sleep together! As your coach, there’s so much I need to learn about you!”

 “NO!” Yuuri yells from inside. The door stays closed.

Viktor can hear sudden, loud rustling from within the walls. What’s he doing in there?

“Yuuri! Yuuri!” He tries again, but this time he doesn’t even get an answer.

Makkachin whines again, but even that doesn’t warm the heart on the other side of the door.

Back at the banquet, it looked like he’d very happily sleep next to Viktor if he happened to ask, so what’s the problem now? They do call alcohol liquid courage for a reason, but can it change someone’s behavior _this much_? Turn him into another person entirely?

He stands there for a few more seconds, kind of hoping that the other one will change his mind, but the rustling stops completely and there aren’t any other noises coming from the room. He loses the smile sometime along the way. He knocks again, but he doesn’t have hopes anymore.

Someone touches his arm and Viktor finds Hiroko behind him when he turns around. Her gentle smile is a weak replacement for the one that he wants to see, but his heart chimes with coy happiness in response anyway.

“I help with your futon,” she says kindly.

He nods silently. Hiroko’s smile deepens as she leads him back to his assigned room. Viktor watches as she spreads the bedding out, one layer on top of the other, and by the time she’s done it looks a lot warmer than it initially did.

“You don’t be angry with Yuuri,” she speaks in her kind voice. She’s kneeling next to his pillow and Viktor finds himself following her onto the floor.

“I’m not…” He tries, but his voice sounds sour. Hiroko doesn’t know the real reason behind the poisoned emotion, so he doubts he’s very convincing.

“This boy has a lot of fear inside,” she continues quietly, carefully putting one English word after the other. “Fear is stronger than happiness.”

That one… Viktor knows how that feels. He nods.

“Yuuri's happiness is complicated,” Hiroko continues. “You will learn.”

Viktor nods again. Thank you, he wants to say, but the words are stuck in his throat. Makkachin makes himself comfortable on the sheets and she pets him lovingly.

“Is it okay for him to stay here?” The question breaks out of Viktor, a burst of worry freezing him in place. No one ever wants Makkachin around, and Viktor’s been practically invading this family, what if Makkachin is a burden like at hom—

“Of course. We love dogs.”

Her smile stays perfect throughout their conversation. Viktor eases back into a more peaceful state of mind. Makka’s comfort always comes before his and now that it’s sorted, he even thinks this empty room isn’t that tragic.

“You are tired. I let you sleep now,” she says, standing up.

“Hiroko…” Viktor calls after her when she is already at the door.

“This house… isn’t an inn, is it?”

“It is home for you, Vicchan,” is what she answers.

She closes the door silently behind her. Viktor turns the lights off, then nudges his puppy until he gets some space for himself on the futon, spreading the duvet over the both of them. He hugs him closer and he licks Viktor’s face a couple of times before he curls into a more comfortable position on his back, a fluffy ear brushing his forehead.

In the quiet, Viktor can hear faint music coming from the direction of Yuuri’s room. It’s a modern piece that Viktor has never heard before. A sad melody played on piano and accompanied by a violin duet. Viktor’s weak for violins; right now, they sound like angels sitting alone on clouds on the opposite sides of the same world, crying their loneliness in an otherworldly language.

It’s surprising how this music is what Viktor needs to allow the frustration he’s been bottling up not just today, but for months, spill… He hopes Makkachin’s curly fur is enough to filter his quiet sobs when they become too hard to control. These walls seem to be extremely thin.

* * *

 

New day, new challenges! Viktor starts the morning with newfound optimism.

He has never coached anybody before. Sure, he was occasionally giving Yakov a helping hand when he was away for competitions, but he did no more than supervise the smallest ones who were all scared of him – the legends surrounding his name and his medals, really, but scared still. So not much experience coming from there. Luckily, Yuuri’s an experienced skater who knows what’s working for him, and Viktor just needs to integrate himself into his life.

Anyhow. Viktor shakes himself. He grabs the backpack he showed his skates into earlier and slowly pulls his door half-way open. He listens. He can make out faint conversations from the floors below, but nothing from the left-hand side – not from Yuuri’s side.

Viktor has to go down, he has things to prepare for the day, but as he follows the corridor leading to the stairs with his eyes, he feels unusually timid.

He remembers little Makka’s first day in his home, fifteen or so years ago, barely bigger than Viktor’s fists held together, too bewildered to step off the carpet onto the cold marble tiled floor as if it beheld all the scary, unknown monsters.

Silly Makka. Silly Viktor.

Makkachin isn’t a puppy anymore and he forces his body between Viktor’s legs, only slightly struggling as he gets out of the room. He remembers who the dinner came from yesterday and happily pounds down the stairs, seeking Hiroko for a fresh bowl of something yummy as it became apparent throughout the morning that Viktor had little to offer him other than the despised dry food (Viktor didn’t find Makka’s boxes yet).

The door on his left slides open right then and he’s looking at Yuuri’s tousled hair sticking into a thousand directions. Cute. Viktor would probably smile if he wasn’t still too preoccupied trying to suppress the sudden shyness setting up a party in his chest.

Yuuri freezes too. He looks like he’s going to shut the door back closed for a moment, but then his shoulders lose some of the stiffness and he mumbles an uncertain “Good morning.”

Viktor reciprocates it.

Yuuri’s already in his workout clothes, just like Viktor: comfortable pants, a tee, and a hoodie. Running shoes.

Because they’re starting training. Right. Viktor’s his coach. He remembers the clipboard with the carefully constructed sheets of paper he set up earlier today: the charts he drew to keep track of all of Yuuri’s measurements and his fitness level. All the important stuff a coach needs to know.

“Are you ready?” He presses the words through his quenched throat. Yuuri nods, so he adds, “Great. Do you have scales? And measuring tape?”

Yuuri’s shoulders stiffen again, but he nods along.

One of them needs to break this awkwardness and Yuuri doesn’t look like he’s going to do it, so Viktor pushes his doubts to the back of his head where they belong, and meets Yuuri’s eyes with a smile.

“Let’s get done with this then,” Viktor waves the clipboard his way, and Yuuri finally walks over to him.

There’s a tiny bathroom on the first floor, with a toilet and a sink in one corner, and a shower and a bathtub (that’s made of wood) in the other. Yuuri collects everything they need from the little storage unit in there, and Viktor scribbles down one number after another until he has the info he needs. Yuuri’s frown lines are growing deeper with every new number they add to the chart, but he isn’t that bad, really.

“What’s your ideal for competitions?” Viktor asks next. Yuuri’s citing them dutifully from the top of his head, and yep, Viktor’s right: he could be in far worse condition – Viktor has seen athletes in far worse condition. It shouldn’t take more than two weeks to get him back there with vigorous training and a well-maintained diet.

None of those are unfamiliar to Yuuri. Once the lines smooth out on his face and they make their way downstairs, Viktor gets a summary of what Yuuri’s normal daily training routine used to look like. Now that was his routine in Detroit, and they’ll have to adjust it to Minako and the local rink’s schedule in Hasetsu. But they have time to figure this out: the main goal, for the time being, is weight loss and that doesn’t involve an ounce of skating.

Yuuri appears to be a dieting expert too. This apparently isn’t the first time he has this sort of problem and he already has a well working system developed to his needs. He eats healthy and nutritious, but not missing the necessary carbs that provide the energy to get through the Spartan training they’d dive into. 

“No, really, thank you, but—” Viktor tries to object when Hiroko pushes food on little plates in front of him after Yuuri gets his share.

“Stop,” Yuuri’s mom scolds him with the smile that never seems to fade from her face. “You help Yuuri, I help you.” And she sets one last tiny bowl in front of him. “Eat.”

Viktor can’t help but stare at her retreating back. When was the last time someone made him breakfast?

“Thank you,” he says and it’s a wonder how his smile is still in place.

Yuuri and he both have a bit of grilled fish, green vegetables, rice, miso soup, and a small bowl of strawberry. They don’t usually include bread in the Japanese cuisine, Yuuri explains, and Viktor is enchanted by this new, healthy looking way of dining.

His mood swings in a significantly positive direction. Yuuri seems to slowly get comfortable around him. They managed to break some kind of barrier back in the little bathroom. As soon as Yuuri started to talk, more and more words kept pouring out of him, explaining Viktor this and that, showing him around the house. They, for example, have a private dining room where the family can eat without disturbing the guests and vice versa – that’s where they’re right now.

Progress since yesterday. Goooood.

They’ll be jogging to the ice rink after breakfast. Hasetsu isn’t like St Petersburg, which has a multitude of rinks to choose from, but it’s been Yuuri’s home rink for a decade—until he moved to Detroit—so Viktor’s sure it’s in good shape if Yuuri got into the senior division training on it. He’ll have a talk with the staff there, work around their schedules to set a timetable that’s good for everybody… He also wants to check the quality of the ice, request adjustments if necessary… He’s willing to pay; he doesn’t expect the rink of a small, unknown town to be of the quality Viktor’s used to on Yakov’s side.

But before that… He lets Yuuri finish his tea in peace before he makes him sweat blood, and shuffles around the entrance hall in search of Hiroko with his bag on his shoulders. Viktor isn’t able to just rest the case of his accommodation like the lady seems to want him to, because he doesn’t understand the reason behind it. They need to come to some sort of agreement, a deal, before Viktor’s ready to accept her generosity.

“Umm, excuse me…” That unusual timidity is showing in his voice again.

“Vicchan!” Hiroko pops out through the doorway. It’s the third time she calls him Vicchan and it’s the third time Viktor wonders what it means.

“About the room.” Viktor gathers his voice into something that resembles casual. “I would feel better if I paid for it like a proper guest,” he says. “And also for your cooking. It’s amazing. And it’s also a lot of food you’re giving me.” There.

Hiroko’s features change, though the smile doesn’t fade. It’s only her eyes taking up a softer edge, something that looks a little bit like sympathy.

“Nonsense.” She declines his offer again. She tries her best to elaborate and she ends up with a mix of Japanese and English, but Viktor understands it’s something about expensive coaches and Yuuri doing part-time jobs in the nights, and about Viktor helping Yuuri with skating and in exchange Hiroko and Toshiya helping Viktor with a place to stay and food to eat. “Fair, right?”

Oh. Has she overheard him yesterday, joking about coaching fees up in his room, trying so hard to break the wall Yuuri set between their pair?

“Right?” She asks again, the confidence of a mother her age so evident in her voice that Viktor knows a no isn’t an answer she’s going to accept.

“Arigatou,” he dips into his superficial Japanese knowledge, thinking that this is the best way to show how deep his gratitude sources from.

Slow burning relief makes space inside him. What she’s saying is logical on more than one level: he’d probably spend all of his savings on accommodation if he was to be paying for it. He put his career on hold which means he won’t win competitions, and winning is where he gets half of his money. That reminds him he’ll need to get in touch with his sponsors (the other half of his earnings come from them), see who he lost and who’s willing to support him as a coach. He’ll have to remember this later so he considers setting up a reminder on his phone.

He chews on his bottom lip.

Hiroko gently squeezes his arm and Viktor refocuses his eyes. He’ll think about this later.

“I give you something,” she says with a wink. She hurries towards the entrance, waving after Viktor to follow her.

Just right outside, propped on a side stand, is a bright yellow bicycle with a cute basket on the front. It looks like a ladies bike, so he blinks in surprise when Hiroko tells him it’s actually Yuuri’s. Viktor has too much fun imagining him riding around in town on it.

“Yuuri doesn't need,” Hiroko explains. “But you are too thin, you don't run.”

Oh. This is all really so generous it takes Viktor’s voice away. He mildly wonders what she means about his weight, but it only reminds him that he missed his last physical with Yakov. He’ll remember to do it with Yuuri sometime.

“A-Arigatou,” he tries to repeat the word again.

Yuuri’s mum just contemplates him silently in return.

That’s when Yuuri joins them with Makkachin on his side. They seem to be getting along and that just adds to the speed his heart is growing with within the cage of his ribs. Hiroko excuses herself and goes back preparing the kitchen for lunchtime.

Viktor watches Yuuri as he starts a series of stretching.

“Your mum is very nice,” he says after a while when Yuuri’s crouching with his left leg kicked out straight on one side. Beginning a conversation, a subtle request to help him figure her out.

“Yeah…” Yuuri answers from the ground. “She likes you.”

“Really? We barely met! She doesn’t know me yet.”

“She may have seen you on TV…” Yuuri says suggestively. Viktor doesn’t miss the subtle flush on his cheeks. That doesn’t mean she knows him, because the image the news sources paint of him is quite different from reality, but he goes with it anyway.

“You mean she’s a fan?”

“I don’t think so,” he says, contemplating for a second. “But she knows that I—”

Oh. The flush is turning into a deeper shade of red.

“That you are?” Viktor asks with a grin. He can’t help it. Teasing him tastes too sweet on his tongue.

Yuuri jerks into standing position. “I’m g-going ahead,” he stutters and runs off with Makkachin at his heel. Viktor smiles a tiny, genuine smile.

It doesn’t really matter how fast Yuuri runs, it doesn’t take more than a few seconds until Viktor catches up with him on the bike. He has no idea where they’re heading, and Yuuri just huffs him directions between sharp breaths of air. They’re going straight down to the coastline. They can follow that road to the Ice Castle from there.

Ice Castle, Viktor loves that name. It’s ironic, really, because how many times did he pretend he lived in an ice castle as a child? Thick, protective ice walls keeping him safe from everything bad, and there were ice floors and ice staircases everywhere so he never had to remove his skates. And Yuuri actually did grow up in one!

As he cycles with Yuuri following him a small distance away, random people on the street are wishing them good morning. Viktor gets Yuuri to teach him the phrase, and, inspired by all the kindness that surrounds him in Hasetsu, he starts reciprocating.

As they’re nearing the bridge that’s leading up to the rink, Yuuri’s wheezes from behind start growing considerably loud. They’ve been keeping a moderate pace, not as fast as Viktor’s used to as a runner, but not slow either. He checks his watch: thirty-six minutes is Yuuri’s limit, for now, it seems. Well. That’ll improve once the—otherwise cute—piggy-belly is gone.

“One last sprint?” Viktor shouts.

All he gets in return is a strangled noise erupting from Yuuri’s throat. Well. The last minutes count the most, Yuuri knows that too. He’s strong enough to survive.

Ice Castle looks a bit abandoned from the outside. There’s cute painting advertising something in enormous Japanese symbols along the walls, but it’s wearing off, and the rust left marks where rainwater dripped from the metal rooftop. There’s a large banner fixed on the top and he recognizes some of the characters printed on it, but only because he’s seen the same ones a hundred times in the title of Yuuri’s Stammi Vicino performance: his own name, Katsuki Yuuri.

Viktor doesn’t even know why it took so long to realize that Yuuri’s some kind of a local celebrity around here; probably the only person in Hasetsu who became famous. It makes sense that the town proudly shows him off everywhere it can.

Yuuri comes to a halt next to him. He’s bending over his knees in a desperate attempt to catch his breath. Viktor fumbles in his bag for a second and hands him the bottle of water he brought along. Yuuri looks at him with a mixture of gratitude and disdain.

“You did well,” Viktor pats his back. He really did. “Let’s go inside!”

Yuuri follows him silently heaving up the stairs.

Viktor meets the Nishigori couple, a nice bunch of people with an enormous love for skating: they’re managing the rink all by themselves and even named their triplets Axel, Lutz, and Loop. Who does that?! But Viktor thinks it’s absolutely adorable. The girls all speak surprisingly good English because they’re going to a special bilingual kindergarten, and their parents can also communicate. It’s really useful if they’re going to spend every day here.

He and the father, Takeshi, work out a schedule: Yuuri’s all good to come every morning before the opening time until noon, and in the evenings after eight. There are some classes and amateur hockey training in the afternoons, and the rink opens for the public when the school activities officially end. In other words, the place tends to become too crowded. The weekends are trickier, but Takeshi says the mornings aren’t usually too bad, so they can close part of the rink for Yuuri’s benefit.

Yuuri appears to be a huge motivating factor for youngsters in town: children fantasize about becoming the next Japan’s Ace. Axel, Lutz, and Loop definitely are part of his fan club, Viktor notes, as he watches Yuuri interact with them from the corner of his eyes.

“Yuuri’s got keys already,” Takeshi says. “He comes and goes as he likes.”

Oh. That’s unusual. Even Viktor doesn’t have a key to his home rink. Yakov is too much of a control freak to allow any one of them on the ice without his supervision.

Takeshi gives him a fast tour around the place so Viktor will be fine coming in on his own, and eventually, he ends up on the ice. The next time he sees Yuuri, he’s on the other side of the barrier with the Nishigori family. Viktor is twirling on the ice, in the middle of skating Stammi Vicino for the triplet’s request, so he can’t see him properly, but he wishes he could just stop and watch him undisturbed. Viktor didn’t realize he needed Yuuri’s tender, gentle eyes on him until Yuuri actually looked at him that way. Not with the fright he is showcasing every time Viktor tries to get close to him.

This frustration preoccupies him so much that he completely forgets feeling bad for the awfully heartless performance he gives. He isn’t competing, there’s no medal on the stake right now, no worldwide broadcasting of his failure, but he should be feeling sorrier for the less than subnormal quality he’s throwing out there. Well. He already established that this program is a disaster and if he didn’t use it in competitions last season, he’d give it to Yuuri. He would do wonders with it.

Viktor adjusts the choreography so he’s mostly facing him. He can get away with it like this… His heart flutters happily at the sight of his soft face, saturated so beautifully with a vaguer version of love he wore on the night of the banquet.

It saddens him to realize that Yuuri needs such a large physical distance between them to be able to show that love, while he has no problem with Takashi throwing an arm over his shoulders and tugging him around.

Give it time, Viktor reminds himself. His quad flip wasn’t achieved in a day either.

He needs some kind of distraction to save himself from the invisible gravity with which Yuuri’s pulling him in.

“The little piggy can’t enter the rink until he drops some body fat,” he says.

The lovely expression melts off Yuuri’s face.

Oh. That was fast. Viktor’s heart squeezes because he looks like Viktor just crushed his world with the sole of his shoe. He can’t allow himself to feel guilty. He’d have to warn the Nishigori family anyway, in case Yuuri’s the type willing to snoop around to get a few minutes of satisfaction.

Soon they’re on their way again, back on the bridge that leads them to the center of the town. The gym Yuuri leads them to, jogging again, is large and well equipped, and Yuuri isn’t on a friendly base with the employees like he’s in Ice Castle. He helps Viktor join the club to get access to the faculties, and they make use of it right away. They have a quick lunch in the little café situated at the entrance when they’re done, salmon salad for the both of them before they’re heading out again.

“Shall we call it a day?” Viktor offers.

Yuuri did very well for the first day after months of break. Viktor doesn’t want to wear him out too much, that would only lead to injuries. More than an hour of jogging and another hour in the gym is enough.

They walk back to Yu-Topia, Viktor pushing his bike. It’s his first chance to have a proper look at the streets. The architecture is so different from anything Viktor’s seen, even in Tokyo, and so charming. Traditional little shops and houses with friendly faces popping up curiously at the windows as they pass by.

“Wow Yuuri, everybody seems to love you around here,” he comments absentmindedly.

“Eh?” Yuuri looks at him like he didn’t even consider this option. “Nah. They’re looking at you.”

“Why would they do that?” Viktor asks, bemused. Yuuri’s delusional.

“Viktor, your look isn’t exactly common around here. People are curious.”

Oh. That makes sense, he figures, but it doesn’t change the fact that their love is for Yuuri.

The proof is in the windows of every little restaurant that offers TV viewing: they all seem to have at least one poster of him, usually the same one: Yuuri in a graceful skating position with cherry blossoms and a cool looking castle in the background. What’s this if not resolute support? Even Viktor doesn’t have his posters plastered around St Petersburg.

They make their way down on narrow cobbled streets, curving this way and that, and Viktor tries to memorize the route so he won’t get lost in the future. They walk past a couple of furniture shops that he wants to come back to later…

They walk in silence. Most of the conversations Viktor tried to make today were cut short with curt answers that left no space to follow up with another question. He would have thought Yuuri was completely disinterested if he didn’t catch him staring his way every once in a while, with a hint of wonder.

“Let’s have a bath together in the hot spring!” Viktor suggests when they’re back in Yu-Topia, bike parked next to the entrance, bag abandoned in the room, the daily chart on his clipboard completed.

“No, I—Uh…” Once again, as soon as Viktor initiates something they can do together, Yuuri takes two steps back, like the improvement in their communication through the day was an illusion. “I will go… to dance practice.”

Oh, right. It’s on the schedule, but Viktor didn’t think Yuuri should handle that as well on top of a tiring first day.

“I’ll have a shower, you enjoy the baths,” Yuuri’s already scurrying towards the staircase.

“But…” Viktor starts, but the other one is faster.

“Minako-sensei will be there, so… you enjoy the baths!”

Viktor blinks after his hunched back disappearing upstairs. It’s been only a day, he reminds himself again. It’s okay if Yuuri’s still shy.

* * *

 

But the shyness doesn’t seem to ease in the next couple of days either. They’re slowly falling into a comfortable rhythm as coach and student, the daily routine they set up working very effectively, but Yuuri blocks him instantly when their conversations wander to a personal level.

Viktor’s aware of the dull pain every time Yuuri shuts him out, not sharing anything and not willing to listen to Viktor’s stories either, but it isn’t until the end of his first week in Hasetsu that the feeling materializes in his behavior. It’s really not just Yuuri’s rejection, he realizes on Tuesday morning, that brought him down from his initial high of moving to Japan. It’s several things, actually, all of them stuff Viktor doesn’t have experience handling.

The language barrier is a bigger issue than Viktor first realized. Apart from Yuuri, nobody speaks good enough English to hold normal conversations with, so Viktor’s doomed to silence most of the time. But what impacts him even more is the way the Katsukis, and even the Nishigoris treat him: like he’s an important part of the family. Especially Hiroko, who is nicer and more caring than his own mother has ever been.

She’s paying attention to Viktor in ways that embarrass him… She’s mindful enough to figure out his favorite foods without asking, that he doesn’t like pickled plums in the onigiri, how he likes his morning coffee, and takes care of Makkachin with such expert hands that Viktor wonders if the family used to have a dog of their own.

In the evening of the second day, when Viktor retired to his room, he found a new bed in one of the corners. “Toshiya found it in the storage room,” she explained with a wink. On the third day, there’s a new wardrobe in another corner. “Mari found it in the storage room,” she said, smiling. Before anything else could be ‘found in the storage room’, Viktor took on the town while Yuuri’s gone for his evening ballet lesson and bought the rest of the furniture he needed: some bookshelves, lamps, a coffee table, an armchair, a sofa, and a carpet. Got them delivered to Yu-Topia too with the help of his new friend, Google Translate.

He doesn’t know where to place Hiroko, doesn’t understand her motivation. There’s always a motivation, that he can tell from his experience with his own parents. For everything good they’d done to Viktor, Viktor had to pay triple the price. Yet strangely enough, Viktor starts thinking of Hiroko as his first friend in Japan.

“What do men drink here when they want to forget?” He asks her on Tuesday evening after he’s back from the baths, sitting at one of the low tables in the restaurant. Maybe that warm liquor he remembers from the night he arrived.

Hiroko places a steamy bowl of katsudon in front of him. She contemplates him for a few seconds before she replies, “I know what you need.”

She returns with a tray of curious equipment.

“Matcha,” she explains. “Green tea,” she adds for better understanding.

Not exactly what Viktor had in his mind, but he watches, enthralled, the careful way she prepares the cup of tea. In Russia, people don’t usually spend more than the two seconds it takes to pour boiled water on a teabag, and this is something entirely different. Hiroko passes the green powder through a mesh, then creates a paste of it with a dash of water and a bamboo whisk. She adds more hot water and keeps whisking, blending until a layer of foam forms on the surface.

“Better than sake,” she tells him kindly as she places the cup in front of him.

It tastes bittersweet, more on the bitter than on the sweet side, exactly how Viktor’s been feeling lately.

“It’s delicious,” he mumbles, but the usual enthusiasm is missing from his voice.

Viktor casts his eyes down and watches the tiny bubbles swirling in his cup. He tries to pick himself up, show Hiroko that he’s less miserable than what he may look like, but his heart is too heavy with all that he’s been trying to suppress. It won’t budge.

“Do you miss Russia?” Hiroko prods him carefully.

Viktor shrugs. He misses Yakov. He texted him a few times but never received a reply. In the twenty years of knowing him, Viktor wasn’t apart from him for more than a couple of days, not like this. Not with Viktor willingly leaving, and going by the cold shoulder he’s getting in return, it doesn’t look like he’ll be available to talk to anytime soon.

The whole situation actually alienated Viktor from his phone. He’s checking it a couple of times a day, but he mainly uses it only for translations and to check the news before he goes to bed. Yakov’s made a statement the day after Viktor’s departure, an angry little figure in front of their home rink exclaiming that Viktor will fail as a coach. Journalists are still chewing Viktor for that, but he doesn’t care all that much about it.

He misses freely being able to express his thoughts, and he misses some food he used to eat every day, but not the grumpy people on the streets and not the constant feeling of pressure hovering above him for advocating ‘distasteful’ behavior while representing the country internationally.

“Your family?” The question pulls Viktor back to the present more violently than a bucket of cold water would.

He shakes his head in the mere shock of his family mentioned – the people who share the rink with him in St Petersburg, and the fans know better than to mention them to Viktor.

He realizes he gave away too much with this single gesture when Hiroko’s eyebrows pull closer together. Viktor prays that she doesn’t linger on the topic, and thank goodness she skips over his unnatural response when anyone else would ask, why?

“Skating?” She continues.

He still gets to skate every day. Not half as much as he used to, but he spends a couple of hours on the ice every day while Yuuri’s completing the distance they set up for him before joining him at the rink. Yuuri still can’t skate, but Viktor thinks reminding him what he misses is a good way to motivate him throughout his weight loss program.

Viktor shrugs again.

He finishes his tea sip by sip. Hiroko was right; the tea has a surprisingly relaxing effect on his mind. He feels the tension slowly leak out of his shoulders.

“Yuuri was twelve years old he saw you on TV,” she tells him quietly so nobody except Viktor can hear her.

Twelve? That was more than… a decade ago. Eleven years ago, to be exact. That’s half of his life.

“What…?” He’s been wondering how long Yuuri watched him for, but he couldn’t ask. Couldn’t possibly know. Could never figure it out without help.

“Yes.” Hiroko nods. “So… Forgive Yuuri if he hurt you. You are idol, not human. You teach him you are human.”

Human.

He nods. He’ll have to trust Hiroko. After all, no one knows Yuuri better than her. He marvels why she’s trying to convince him, not for the first time, to not give up on her son.

He also wonders what he should do to look more human. He’s been trying to do just that, getting to know him and encouraging Yuuri to ask him questions too, but he only seems to be interested in training and skating and nothing else.

“When Yuuri returned to Hasetsu, I thought he has no future,” Hiroko continues. “But you gave him future again.”

It’s the first time Viktor sees anything but positive kindness on her face. He smiles at her. He still doesn’t fully understand half of what she’s saying as some words are in Japanese, but he gets the gist of it, and that’s what matters at the end of the day.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “Even if Yuuri gives up, I never do.”

She nods, smiling again.

“Vicchan, if you want to talk, I am here,” she says, brushing the jinbei lightly above his heart. “Eat katsudon.” She collects his teacup back on her tray and attends the group of patrons who just arrived.

He’s already in bed with Makkachin when Yuuri comes home around eleven. With the way his socked feet shuffle on the corridor, Viktor can tell he’s wholesomely exhausted. He’s in soft, incomprehensible conversation with Hiroko, barely above a whisper. He recognizes the word ‘Vicchan’ in the distance as Yuuri pulls the door of his room open, and Viktor knows they’re talking about him. He just hopes Hiroko isn’t telling Yuuri how miserable he looked earlier.

Makka’s head perks up and he looks like he’s ready to pounce out the door (he learned how to open it with his paws and muzzle, that rascal!), and Viktor holds him in place with an arm around his neck.

“No, Makkachin,” he hisses at him. “It’s late, leave them alone.”

Also, he kind of needs the warmth of his smaller body under the duvet, otherwise it’s even less likely he'll fall asleep tonight.

Eventually, Makka settles back next to him and Yuuri’s door pulls close. Viktor leans his head back on his pillow with the arm previously around his dog’s neck now thrown over his forehead and listens to the small noises coming from the other's room. He knows Yuuri’s evening routine: in a couple of minutes he’ll shuffle into the bathroom downstairs, shower quickly without bothering to sit in the bathtub after, then head back to his room and turn on some music, mostly modern instrumental and orchestral pieces, like the one he listened to on Viktor’s first night.

It’s usually only one song repeated on a loop for hours. At first, Viktor thinks Yuuri’s a total night owl, awake until the early hours of dawn, but on the fourth day, he starts to count. The music always cuts off at three o’clock sharp, as if his computer is timed to shut itself off in case Yuuri falls asleep.

Viktor doesn’t mind listening to the music in the dead of night. He struggles to fall asleep these days, and the music at least helps him switch off his mind. Yuuri’s taste is nothing short of exceptional, and he realizes that he’s now even looking forward to hearing what the other one is in the mood for.

He always seems to be in the mood for depressing, heart-wrenching music. Viktor likes them more than the happy, energetic ones too, so it’s alright.

He thinks back at the Yuuri he’s seen during the Finals, the broken, teary-eyed angel fighting through horrors that Viktor still doesn’t understand. He then thinks back at the Yuuri at the banquet, happy, alluring, in love with stars in his eyes. Lastly, he thinks of this nervous wreck he’s around him in Hasetsu. Which one is the real one?

Yes, he realizes he spends way too much time analyzing Yuuri. His obsession, however unrequited it is, is flaring up with scorching hot flames. It’s maddening because throughout the entire week the only thing he learned about him for certain is that he loves at katsudon and he’s unusually good at denying it from himself.

The soft violins and cellos in the music reach their final accord, and the music slowly dies on a simple piano sequence much similar to the opening. Then it starts from the beginning.

He doesn’t know how much time passes until Makkachin stirs next to him and carefully makes his way to the door, nudging it open with just a little struggle. Viktor can hear his nails pattering on the dark wooden planks as he lazily walks the couple of meters to Yuuri’s door and opens that too. There’s no rustling or Yuuri quietly ushering him out, there’s no noise at all; he’s already asleep.

Viktor’s been wondering where Makkachin disappeared on the nights he managed to escape. Mystery solved. As lonely as his large bed feels without his warmth, he’s glad that at least his dog found a new friend in Yuuri.

* * *

 

Morning arrives too early, and when a still half-asleep Yuuri joins Viktor in the small family dining-room for breakfast, Viktor realizes they might be pushing him too much. They didn’t have a rest day since day one, and Yuuri looks hollow.

“How are the numbers today?” He asks, and Yuuri silently hands him the usual piece of paper with his weight and measurements as he collapses next to him.

Viktor’s watching the other one suspiciously.

“What is it that you’re doing with Minako during classes, exactly?” He’s still fine when they get back to Yu-Topia in the afternoons, so whatever drains him has to happen in the evenings.

“Just dancing… But she’s intense.”

Viktor can only guess. He’d give half his arm to see what’s happening in those classes, but Yuuri has a different view on that apparently. Is Viktor too nice a coach? Yakov would just ignore his nonsense and barge in the studio like it belonged to him.

“You’re doing very well,” he says in the end, examining the numbers on the piece of paper and adding them to his chart. “See?” He pushes the clipboard across the table so the other one can check it too. “Just a bit more to go!”

Yuuri lets out an inaudible sigh of relief.

“We’ll take today easier. Let’s take the afternoon off.”

“But…” Yuuri starts protesting and Viktor sighs to himself. “But I want to get back on the ice as soon as possible.”

“The dead don’t skate,” Viktor tells him with a sweet smile on his face. “You look like you’re halfway there.” Ah, how many times Yakov told him the exact same thing and how much he hated to hear it.

Yuuri’s eyes widen for a second, but then he just nods. He sips at his miso and picks at the white radish, salmon, and rice in the separate bowls.

“Let’s try a new route today,” Viktor adds. “It gets boring jogging the same streets every day, right?”

“There’s my favorite route,” Yuuri says, shoulders slightly shimmying as he continues. “But it’s a little difficult and you can’t make it on a bike… An elevator will take you to the top if you want, though.”

“No, I’ll run with you!” Viktor says enthusiastically. “I've been slacking off anyway.”

Yuuri’s favorite route turns out to be a suicide path up the side of a mountain, a thousand steps assisting Viktor’s lungs to puncture themselves. He tries to catch his breath as he finally reaches the top and says nothing as Yuuri turns around to run back down with just a little effort, his eyes assessing Viktor a moment longer than necessary. He doesn’t look half as beaten as Viktor does, which is ridiculous considering Viktor’s one week of slacking off is nothing compared to Yuuri’s five months.

Where’s all this stamina coming from? He wonders as Yuuri reappears on the curvy path ten minutes later.

“One more time,” Viktor says when he reaches the top. It’s less out of pure coachly sadism and more out of curiosity; he wants to see how long it takes for Yuuri to start dragging his feet.

He might have taken up on the wrong challenge though. There has to be a reason why running up steps is his favorite exercise.

Sweat is beading on the side of his forehead the third time he meets Viktor and Makkachin, and that’s when he remembers the goal today was to not push him too much.

They find a tiny garden on the side of the road with a couple of benches, and they aim that way. Viktor gets two bottles of water from the nearby vending machine and gives one to Yuuri before he thirstily gulps down the other one. He sits on a bench and Makka stretches out on the sun-warmed ground, but Yuuri’s restless. He persists his jumping leg still doesn’t feel right, so he starts a series of jumps imitating those on the ice, with his free leg hanging in the air where he stands on the bench, back to Viktor.

The silence between them reaches a level of comfort today, where nor he nor Yuuri feels the need to fidget or start weird conversations just to escape from the uneasiness. So when the question slips out of Viktor’s mouth, it’s a surprise for both of them, but at least Viktor’s able to patch it up with an easy, practiced smile.

He doesn’t even know where the question is coming from because he knows that Minako’s his mother’s age. The source has to be this strange kind of jealousy he feels towards everyone who Yuuri’s friendlier with than Viktor.

“Do you have feelings for Minako?”

Yuuri almost falls off the bench and looks at Viktor with such disbelief that claws on the walls of Viktor’s heart. Clearly, the answer is no, which Yuuri confirms adamantly too.

“Do you have a lover?” Viktor presses. Well. If they’re into it already, better use the opportunity to drill him more.

“No,” Yuuri answers humbly. That’s a relief!

“Any exes then?” If only Viktor understood how Yuuri worked romantically, he’d maybe understand his rejection too.

“N-No comment!” Yuuri stumbles on his words. That, and the way his eyes widen and his face turns red looks awfully like Yuuri never had a relationship. No girlfriends, no boyfriends. No one.

“Let’s talk about me!” Viktor leans closer to him. Maybe if Yuuri sees that Viktor’s willing to let him see what’s in the darker corners of his heart, he’d lose the shyness. Show him you’re a human too, was what Hiroko told him. “My first partner was—”

“ _Stop!_ ” Yuuri pleads in embarrassment.

Viktor turns away from him and looks at the beautiful view of the town instead. He can’t deny the disappointment creeping up on his ribs like they were the rungs of a ladder. Yuuri doesn’t want to know. It isn’t like Viktor trusts just anyone with this story, so the rejection is an extra painful stab in his heart.

Makkachin saves the moment with excited barking, and Viktor and Yuuri look up simultaneously to see what’s got his attention.

“Yuuri, what’s that castle over there?” Viktor asks because it’s evident he is still too much like an idol to coax any kind of personal answer out of him.

He, of course, has seen the castle numerous times already as it’s so close to Ice Castle, but always in the distance, like a far ornament adorning the horizon.

“Oh, that’s Hasetsu Castle. There’s a ninja house inside.”

Yuuri looks unusually passionate about it like he was totally into ninjas as a child or something. That’s okay because Viktor’s totally into ninjas too. He needs to have a photo of himself and Makka with the castle in the background, and Yuuri has an unusual shine in his eyes when Viktor hands him his phone. It’s up on Instagram before he has time to think it through rationally.

“Hey, is it possible to go in?”

“Yes, yes,” Yuuri nods helpfully. “It’s a museum!”

Viktor lets out a strangled noise in response that surprises him more than Yuuri.

“Let’s go!” He exclaims and Makka’s happy to follow at his heel. Yuuri tags along of course and Viktor feels his breaths tremble in his throat when he recognizes the same kind of mad excitement reflecting in his eyes.

Makka needs to stay outside, but that’s okay he guesses because the old lady feeding birds in the garden knows Yuuri and looks genuine when Yuuri translates her promise to look after him while they’re inside.

Viktor has never felt more childish than right now, walking the long corridors framed with tall glass walls, authentic variations of ninja outfits on one side, and some samurai armor on the other. There's a meter-tall mock-up version of the castle in one of the rooms, large mock-ups of atakebune (Japanese warships, Yuuri tells him), then swords, ninja stars, knives, and other weapons. There’s also a vast display of traditional clothing and pottery and other stuff that the common people of Hasetsu used in their everyday lives hundreds of years ago.

It’s all so amazing and Viktor is giddy with happiness. At one point, he clings to Yuuri’s arm because it’s easier to drag him from one display to the other, and it takes him half an hour to realize what he’s doing because Yuuri quietly lets him.

How did they make such an improvement so suddenly?!

He affords a sideways glance at Yuuri’s face and it isn’t stressed or nervous. Instead, the corners of his lips are turned upwards, and he looks a bit… dreamy? Shy happiness, Viktor’s brain highlights the words for him. The sparkles in his eyes are brighter than the stars.

Yuuri notices him looking and returns it for a brief second, before turning his head to the other direction, the pink rising on his cheek again. But even with that, he doesn’t step out of their private little bubble.

Oh god. Viktor forgets to look at the hundred and fifty years old kimono because Yuuri is suddenly way more mesmerizing than ninja castles can ever be.

If it wasn’t for the moments like this, Viktor would have believed that Yuuri really wasn’t interested in him as a man.

“Wow, this was amazing!” Viktor exclaims when they exit into the sunshine again and they pull apart.

“Viktor…” Yuuri starts uncertainly and it’s as if the happiness that was so evident inside the castle is suddenly gone with the bubble. “I know you told me to take it easy today so I was thinking… I’d go see the triplets and Yuuko in the afternoon?”

Oh. Is he asking for permission? His own happiness follows Yuuri’s out the window. He was hoping… But what was he hoping for again?

“Yeah… Of course!” He says, forcing the bitter disappointment down his throat. His smile pulls into place, curving his lips in a familiar way. “It’s your free time, do what you want.”

His response seems to confuse Yuuri, who is examining his face with a frown. Isn’t this what he wanted to hear?

Hiroko definitely told Yuuri about the kind of mood she found him in last night, is what pops into his mind.

“I wanted to take care of a few things in town anyway,” he adds with a wink and he hopes he’s convincing enough.

Whatever question is on Yuuri’s mind, he doesn’t ask. Simply nods, ruffles the fluffy hair on top of Makkachin’s head, and takes off with a wave. Makka pounds after him, but Yuuri sends him back to Viktor.

“He abandoned us,” Viktor pouts when the dog comes to a stop in front of him.

Makka whines and licks the fresh layer of dust off his muzzle.

“Don’t give me that face,” Viktor sighs, patting his head and fishing his phone out of his pocket. “At least he lets you sleep in his room.”

He didn’t lie to Yuuri when he said he had things to do in town. He’s been meaning to do a little shopping. There’s a bookstore that he wants to check out—that’s his priority actually—and then he needs to get a plug adapter because none of his European plugs fit into these tiny Japanese holes… There’s just so many times he wants to ask Yuuri to lend him a phone charger. Viktor has a laptop too, which he misses every time he’s trying to find something to occupy himself with in the evenings.

He finds his way back to the heart of the town with the help of the online map and gets the plug first, because it’s more like a chore than something that Viktor actually enjoys doing. Then he heads to the only bookstore which looks large enough from the outside to possibly carry what he’s looking for.

He doesn’t set his expectations high. It’d be a miracle to find anything in Russian, but English should be less of a problem. He has no idea what the characters indicating the different topics and genres are, so he goes through every section until he finds the foreign books, language books, and dictionaries. It’s easy from there.

He chooses the internationally established dictionary brand, going for both the Japanese-English and the English-Japanese versions. The language books are more difficult to navigate through. There’s so many, so he picks a few and tries to compare them, see which one is the easiest to understand, which one works in favor of his logic. Luckily, he already went through the same thing when he was studying English, and then French, so he knows what to look for and what to avoid. He picks two, just in case, and a kanji book for beginners.

He wants to learn. If not for anything else, then to be able to properly talk to Hiroko, and not to fail to navigate through everyday life when he can’t even tell the difference between chicken and pork flavored dog food. He remembers to pick up a couple of empty notebooks too, then he’s ready to pay.

Makka’s patiently waiting outside the store, leash carefully wrapped around a pole.

It’s the middle of lunch rush when they arrive back to Yu-Topia, so to avoid bothering the Katsuki family, Viktor heads straight up to his bedroom, leaving Makka in the garden chasing pigeons.

He piles up the books on his small coffee table and sits on his heels, opening one of the grammar books to chapter one and committing the afternoon to understanding the basics of the language.

The knock on his door a few hours later is soft, but it still startles him in the silent cocoon he built around himself.

“Vicchan, come have lunch.” It’s Hiroko.

Viktor checks the time – it’s four already. He’s so immersed in the intrigues of Japanese that he didn’t even realize he was hungry until she pointed it out to him.

He gathers his books and dictionaries and meets the lady on the other side of the door.

“You came early today.” She shares her observation as Viktor follows her into the restaurant. It’s nearly empty by now.

“I gave Yuuri the afternoon off,” Viktor explains. “He’s working very hard.”

“Yes, Yuuri does,” Hiroko smiles knowingly.

She places a large plate of steamed buns in front of him. He never questions her choice of food nor requests anything by himself. She’s the best cook he knows, and even Makka thinks so because every time he’s here he tries to steal something from his plate.

“Arigatou,” he says gently.

She throws a curious glance at the books he sets next to the plate but says nothing, leaves him to dine in silence.

Yuuri joins him unusually early, collapsing on the floor next to him, giving Viktor's half-finished food only one longing glance before he darts his eyes. He settles them on the dictionaries instead.

“You…’re learning Japanese?” He asks timidly.

“Yoroshiku onegaishimasu.” Viktor beams at him in response, a clever phrase he picked up from chapter one – Introductions.

Yuuri lets out a breathless little laughter. Viktor would think he somehow managed to charm him with that one sentence if—

But there are no ifs this time, he does look charmed with the same spark in his eyes Viktor noticed earlier inside the castle.

He looks so stunning like this, and the feeling gnaws on Viktor’s heart. The dull ache he feels isn’t unfamiliar anymore – it settled in his chest quite comfortably by now.

Yuuri’s dinner is a lot more modest than Viktor’s: vegetable soup with tofu.

“Is Japanese difficult for you?” Yuuri asks, sipping liquid from the same kind of wooden spoon that comes with ramen.

Conversation. Viktor jumps on it like a starved person jumps of crumbs of bread.

“It’s different than anything I studied before,” Viktor admits. “I don’t mind the grammar much because I’m good at understanding that, but your symbols… The hiragana and katakana are easy, but the rest…”

“Yeah…” Yuuri nods. “Though it could be worse.” Viktor raises an eyebrow. Worse than Japanese? “I could live in China.”

A… joke Yuuri attempted? Viktor bursts out laughing.

 “I guess it could be worse,” he has to agree.

“When I moved to Detroit, I barely spoke English. Just enough to know my points at a competition,” Yuuri says.

“How did you manage University?”

Yuuri shakes his head, almost amused by the memory. “In the first year, I failed every oral exam because nobody understood me. English sucks because it has so many sounds that are unfamiliar to us. I also tend to get… nervous when I have to speak up. And under pressure. So... yeah. It was embarrassing.”

“And look at you now,” Viktor smiles. “Your English is perfect.”

“Nah,” Yuuri shakes his head. Viktor would like to think it isn’t the hot soup responsible for the flush on his cheeks. “Far from it.”

“Better than mine,” he admits.

“You never lived in a native English-speaking country,” Yuuri meets his smile bashfully.

“No,” he agrees dumbly because his brain doesn’t have the ability to comprehend how they’re suddenly having casual conversation… He wants to keep it going, but for that, he needs to produce some kind of response that will urge Yuuri to say more.

He has so many questions, but every time he asks Yuuri runs away, so… So how should he respond?

Makka saves the moment like he has some sort of secret, hidden ability to sense when there’s tension building between the pair of them. He pads to Yuuri’s side and makes himself comfortable with his legs stretching out under the table.

“I’m sorry about Makkachin,” Yuuri says then, guilt tinting his voice a tad sadder.

“Why?”

“I don’t know how he manages to get into my room during the night. I always make sure I close the door.”

“Ah. He figured out how to open it.”

“Did you?!” Yuuri turns to the dog with a fond smile and pretend-accusation in his voice. “Smart, aren’t you?” He ruffles the hair between his ears and Makka yips proudly.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised…” He sighs when he turns away from him. “Vicchan tried too, but he was a lot smaller and weaker than Makkachin.”

“Vicchan?” Viktor perks his head up.

“My dog,” Yuuri answers. “He isn’t around anymore.”

The sadness returns to Yuuri’s voice. Though Viktor has yet to lose a dog, he thinks he can understand how he feels because he’s constantly worried about Makka these days.

“Why is your mother calling me Vicchan?”

The pair of chopsticks freeze in Yuuri’s hand for a second and air catches in his throat. “I’ve been wondering myself about that…” Yuuri grits it out between his teeth, and he sounds more annoyed than genuinely clueless. There’s definitely something else to the story that he doesn’t let Viktor in on.

But at least now he knows why Makka doesn’t bother anyone in the house. They're used to dogs.

Hiroko joins them soon, carrying a familiar tray with familiar cups and instruments. Yuuri shoots her a questioning look that she understands without words.

“For Vicchan,” she explains. “You like it, no?”

“Yes,” Viktor says, almost stumbling on the word.

Why does Yuuri’s mother care about Viktor so much? Yes, he’s Yuuri’s coach, but she doesn’t have to do anything to keep him around. Viktor doesn’t think he’d be able to leave at this point if Yuuri personally threw him on the street.

“Good. New habit. One cup, every day.”

She carefully measures the tea and the water again, froths it for him so it’s silky on his tongue.

Hiroko asks something in Japanese, motioning to the other cup on her tray, and Yuuri nods. She makes tea for him too, then leaves them to their privacy. By that time Yuuri’s back to his reserved, wordless self. They finish their tea in silence, then agree to meet for breakfast the usual time tomorrow. Yuuri heads up to his room and Viktor makes a beeline for the baths, a ritual he’s trying to follow every evening before getting ready for bed. He has never had unlimited access to such luxury indulgences, so why not enjoy it while he can?

The music tonight is familiar – it’s the same piano base from a few days ago, just a different composition. The same notes transferred to an entire orchestra that blows Viktor’s mind away. He didn’t think the original could get better, but he was clearly wrong. He wishes he had the kind of imaginary to commission something like it. Wouldn’t Yuuri want to skate to this music? The music alone almost makes Viktor cry… What would it do to an arena full of people combined with Yuuri’s genius presentation?

Today seems to turn into another sleepless night, despite the uncomfortable burning of Viktor’s eyes. He didn’t sleep well yesterday either. In the end, he plugs in his laptop, connects it to the Wi-Fi, and opens Netflix, checks what options he has in Japan. Loads of anime and one season Japanese TV drama to choose from, but he finds some Netflix originals and popular international shows too. He looks for something with English subtitles and settles in the bed with Makkachin.

* * *

 

Morning comes too soon. He should have slept more, because hell breaks loose and he isn’t prepared. Reporters flood the entire town, looking for Viktor Nikiforov both at Ice Castle and at Yu-Topia. The photo he shared of Hasetsu Castle went viral, so even the most unobservant person knows where he is by now.

Luckily, they’re out of the house by the time the crowd finds the hot spring resort, demanding to see Viktor Nikiforov. They know it because Takeshi sends messages warning both him and Yuuri. Viktor will be the first to arrive at the rink as usual, faster on the yellow bicycle. It’s his mission to take care of the reporters before Yuuri rounds up his first jogging session.

The Nishigori family is frozen to the spot behind the counter when Viktor enters the reception with well-practiced ease, hands in pockets and easy smile on his face. The questions are intrusive, but he handles them fiercely.

Is it true he retired as a competitive skater?

No, of course not, he’s just taking a break to recharge. His answer goes hand in hand with Yakov’s aggressive outburst, so there’s that at least. He hopes the old man hears him so the next time Viktor tries to call him he actually picks it up.

Why Katsuki Yuuri when there’re so many skaters out there with more talent?

Viktor replies with a question, asks them in an overly kind voice if they’re blind, the award-winning smile never slipping from his lips. Viktor hasn’t seen anyone skate with such undeniable, inspiring talent and passion as Katsuki Yuuri in years.

So then, is he planning to stay in Japan? What about the Russian Skating Federation, surely they aren’t happy that he’s training a foreigner?

Considering that Yakov’s the only Russian coach training champions in Russia, most others delegate abroad, but Viktor’s sure everyone has done their research before coming here. He’s being ruder than usual and he can't help it. He's protecting Yuuri’s name. Is this why Yakov treats the press like garbage? To protect his skaters?

Yes, but Viktor has a special relationship with the Federation. Won’t his decision make them even angrier?

Viktor’s sure the Federation is level-headed enough to put aside their personal opinions to acknowledge the professional achievements he’s still bringing home, bringing under Russia’s belt as a coach training a world-class skater.

Ah, okay. By the way, where’s Mr. Katsuki now?

He’s going through special training off the ice, Viktor explains. The training helps Yuuri improve his stamina.

Is he going to be in later today?

No, he lies. So they better get going because they’re disturbing the rink keepers right before the opening hours, he says motioning at Yuuko, Takeshi, and the kids.

They still linger for a while, hidden outside behind bushes and at the corner of the building, but it looks like Yuuri probably took Takeshi’s advice via the message to stay clear of the rink for a while.

 _Are you OK?_ Viktor texts him quickly once he’s inside the locker room because it’s his responsibility to know.

_Yeah. Running along the beach with Makkachin._

Right when he’s ready to type in his answer, his phone rings.

The blood freezes in Viktor’s veins and his heart stops. He almost drops the device.

The white letters on the black background burn into his retina and he can still see them when he closes his eyes.

_Andrei Nikiforov_

He lets the phone ring until the line cuts off. Then a second later it starts again, buzzing in his hand.

And again and again and again.

Until an angry email pings in his mailbox.

_Stop fooling around and return to Russia immediately._

The world comes to a halt, the wheels underground grinding so loud Viktor thinks his ears will bleed.

With trembling hands, he puts his phone back in his pocket and puts on his skates.

Then he remembers he doesn’t need calls distracting him while he’s skating, so he leaves it next to the entrance on the barrier. In silent mode.

He takes to the ice but unfortunately doesn’t miss the flashing of the screen before he turns completely away, another email coming in.

_You’re making your mother cry._

Viktor skates out. Closes his eyes and starts dancing, earphones tucked in his ears and old iPod, kept around as back-up in case his phone’s battery gives out, secure in his pocket.

He tries to keep his mind clear of thoughts. He focuses solely on the melodies that play one after the other, wills the violins, cellos, contrabasses, pianos, and the beats of heavy drums to flow through his brain and into his body, leading him from one step to the next, from one jump to another, from one dizzyingly fast spin to an even faster one. No rules, no choreographies, no nothing, just what his wild heart is telling him to do.

He doesn’t want to think. Can’t _allow_ himself to think, allow _him_ to penetrate his thoughts.

He has to stop after the seventh intense random routine his subconscious is coming up with because his legs start to wobble in exhaustion. He lets out a shaky breath as he comes to a stand-still, and when he lifts his eyes, he sees Yuuri, staring at him, trapped in no less a shock than Viktor himself is in.

Viktor needs to pull himself together right now.

But it’s too late, he thinks, Yuuri can see right through him. Who knows how long he's been watching. It takes a broken heart to recognize another, and a broken skater to understand the language of another on the ice.

He hands Viktor a bottle of water silently when Viktor finally skates up to him. He takes it and takes a sip, then another. He glances at his phone; it’s quiet and undisturbed, almost as if Viktor just imagined everything. Until…

“It’s been ringing,” Yuuri says carefully.

“Aha…” Viktor trails off.

“Could be important.”

“I doubt that.” He tries for a smile and it doesn’t feel right.

Yuuri furrows his eyebrows. There’s no way Yuuri can read Cyrillic so there’s no way he’d know who the caller was.

“Are you… alright? You were very… intense out there.”

“Yeah!” Too fast. Too desperate to convince.

“Anyway…” Yuuri blinks, averts his eyes, toys with the hem of his tee. “I’m sorry if coaching me is causing you trouble.”

“No trouble here. Don’t let the press scare you, they follow me everywhere,” Viktor answers, and it might the first honest thing he tells Yuuri today.

His phone is flashing with a new incoming call right in that moment and they both look at it at the same time. Then Viktor smashes his palm over it and pulls it off the top of the barrier.

He sees the question in Yuuri’s eyes, then there’s a reassuring glint as he turns his back to Viktor. Giving him privacy. Unneeded, because the conversation would be in Russian anyway.

Viktor takes a shaky breath, leveling the device to his ear. He can’t run forever, he tells himself as he presses his thumb on the screen, receiving the call. He’ll eventually have to answer it.

He listens to the strict, cold, emotion-free voice, and doesn’t register half of what’s being said. They’re threats to shut Viktor out of the skating federation, threats to ruin his relationship with all of his remaining sponsors, threats that he’ll be disowned and made sure everyone knows why, all of that because he’s 'gay for that Katsuki’. Viktor listens quietly until he’s done, then says,

“Do as you wish, father.”

Andrei Nikiforov cuts the line and Viktor stays where he’s standing on the ice, his phone pressed to his ear so hard it starts to hurt. Until two hands reach out and grab his forearms and pull him off the ice.

Yuuri’s hands are trembling just as much as Viktor’s, but at least one of them—not Viktor—puts on a brave face.

“Do you want to skate it out?” Yuuri asks, his voice unusually steady for someone who normally juggles nervous breakdowns every time he has to interact with him.

He shakes his head. If he skates now… that would taint his feelings for the ice for weeks. Andrei Nikiforov has this strange capability to ruin skating just like that.

“Then come.” Yuuri starts, but Viktor doesn’t find the strength in his legs to follow.

It’s strange, how after such a long time nothing changed. They didn’t speak in years and Viktor thought he’s over this crap, yet here he is trembling like he’s half his age.

Yuuri turns around after a couple of steps and assesses Viktor with such worry in his eyes that Viktor’s only used to from Yakov. He extends a hand towards him and he clutches it like a life vest in the raging ocean.

He’s pulling Viktor along the rink, walking to a corner that’s usually out of use, while dialing someone on his phone. Viktor can’t understand the fast ramble, but there’s Makkachin’s name somewhere between Japanese words. When they open a door on the far side of the wall, there’s Makka and Viktor's pair of shoes with Yuuko. She measures them, but Viktor hides his face under the curtain of his hair so he doesn’t see what conclusions she draws.

“The press is still here,” Yuuri says when it’s just the two of them again and they’re walking down the corridor, dog obliviously padding along. “So we’re leaving through the side entrance.”

“Thank you,” is all Viktor says. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Yuuri asks kindly. “No trouble here.” He shoves the same sentence he said five minutes ago back at him.

Viktor wants to cry. Not because Andrei Nikiforov is a cruel, manipulative jerk who only ever changes for the worse, but because how is it that Yuuri seems to _understand_ Viktor when he isn’t even saying anything at all? _Know_ what Viktor needs to hear without seeing him this way before? Without knowing his background story?

“I’ll be back to normal tomorrow,” he mutters as Yuuri closes the entrance behind them quietly.

“I know.”

Viktor squeezes his hand until he can feel his fingers tingling from the exertion.

Yuuri leads him to the beach.

They find a large enough driftwood that fits both of them.

Makkachin is chasing seagulls, yipping at them.

It takes him a while to get bored with the birds he’s never able to catch, and eventually finds his way back to Viktor’s side.

He sinks into the sand beside him.

Yuuri takes his shoes and socks off and goes for a walk where the sea licks the sand, leaving Viktor in the privacy he desperately needs, exchanging Yuuri’s hand with Makka’s curly fur.

He only joins him again when Makka gets too preoccupied with tiny hermit crabs crawling across the sand, his paws digging in the sand and following them with his muzzle.

They’ll bite his nose, Viktor thinks.

He tries to judge the mixture of worry and the strangest kind of peace on Yuuri’s face, contemplates if… How Yuuri would react… if… But Viktor’s body is shaking because he needs it _too much_ , has been so deprived… Maybe just this once… And Yuuri can push him away if he hates it… So Viktor wraps his arms around his torso and presses his forehead and eyes into the fabric on Yuuri’s shoulder.

And Yuuri doesn’t mind it, even brings his arms around him in return, and after long minutes, Viktor’s body eventually relaxes. He always had Yakov for these moments, and being in Yuuri’s arms feels completely different. Yakov’s arm around his shoulder tells him, “I know you need it and this is what I can give, Vitya.” Yuuri’s hug is saying, “I know how you feel. Stay here as long as you need to.”

He presses his eyes so tightly together that his forehead starts developing an ache.

* * *

 

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” Viktor will say at night when they’ll be back in Yuuri’s home and he’ll sound painfully childish to his own ears, but Yuuri will follow upstairs and into Viktor’s room without trying to find a way out. Will sit and watch animal documentaries of baby tigers and blue whales and arctic foxes with him until Viktor will fall asleep, and when they’ll wake up in their separate rooms, they won’t mention what happens today.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inu = Dog  
> Irrasshaimase = Welcome! (in shops, restaurants, etc)  
> Konnichiwa = Hello  
> Arigatou = Thank you  
> Yoroshiku Onegaishimasu = in this environment, something along the lines of 'Please take care of me'.
> 
>  
> 
> And there we have it, a small glimpse into Viktor's past. Not a very happy past, as you can tell. But I can't just ignore that deeply carved sadness on Viktor's face before he moved to Hasetsu, and also can't ignore what the anime so romantically did: the reality of homophobia, and not just that, but everyone who happens to be different from the standardized "normal". Our world isn't a tolerant place, and some countries are worse than others. Russia happens to be one of worst, and Viktor as a public figure struggles immensely because of that.
> 
> If you like the story so far or if you have some kind of constructive criticism to share with me, please do so in the comments. Or just leave me kudos. They mean a lot to me. ;)
> 
> The next chapter will be up as soon as possible! :)


	4. The most absurd week of Viktor's life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life would definitely be easier for Viktor if he didn't always forget his promises... That's why one angry Yuri Plisetsky shows up in Hasetsu in the first place, and although he personally welcomes the familiar presence of the youngster, he isn't sure he can tell the same about Yuuri. The boy's doing fine though, and his devilish intentions and poisonous tongue aren't Viktor biggest concerns. That title goes to one particularly anxious skater whose entire universe seems to revolve around the bowl of katsudon he cannot eat...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to take a moment and thank all of you who are keeping up with this story since chapter 1, and also all of you who have joined us later on. I treasure and appreciate every single one of you, whether you prefer to lurk in the background or step up and gift me with kudos and comments. I guess I just want you to know that I love you.
> 
> Finally, chapter 4 is ready! Yay! It was so easy to write it, but editing it was just such a pain! Nothing I planned seemed to work so I did half a dozen revisions... It's safe to say this isn't my favorite chapter, but worry not! I promise it turned out good in the end.
> 
> I also tweaked the previous chapters a bit. There aren't any important changes, I just hopefully(!!!) got rid of most of the embarrassing mistakes and errors I left in them. I shall not spare time to reread what I write I thousand times before publishing it in the future. This is my first time working without a proofreader and it's not an excuse, I know, and I hope to give you better quality chapters from now on.
> 
> I had a bit of free time on my hand so I came up with an accompanying moodboard for this fic, Viktor centric. Feel free to reblog it from my tumblr [@glitterburg](http://glitterburg.tumblr.com/post/170128367644/you-look-like-youre-doing-great-viktor-yuri) (or just come say hello any time).
> 
> Playlist:  
>  Taku Matsushiba: In Regards Of Love: Agape  
>  Taku Matsushiba: In Regards Of Love: Eros  
>  Wodkah: The Last Butterfly

The morning greets Viktor with the kind of stomach ache that he knows he won’t be getting rid of for days. It’s the kind of ache that he’s well acquainted with and the kind he used to beg, curled into a small ball in his bed, to just go away. It doesn’t work like that though, and Viktor’s an adult now, so he just takes a mental inventory of the painkillers he haphazardly packed in St Petersburg and notes, resigned, that he doesn’t have anything strong enough (didn't need anything so strong for years). He counts it a lesson learned to start being more precautious.

He rolls onto his side and snuggles into Makkachin's warmth, desperate to ignore reality for a few moments. Such a good dog. However unfaithful he’s being recently, he still knows when Viktor really needs him. Viktor will just stay like this for five more minutes, then he’ll get up and be a normal human being like he promised Yuuri yesterday.

When the time’s up, he blindly gropes after his phone that has to be somewhere on the bed, because Viktor woke to the noise of the alarm, and—ah, found it. He got no more missed calls from Andrei Nikiforov, instead he got a dozen alerts from Russian news portals exploding with his latest scandals: reports from Hasetsu with clear photos of Viktor standing at Ice Castle’s entrance; the interview from yesterday misquoted to make him look meaner than he was in reality; photos of Yu-Topia with the Katsuki family’s blurred out faces; Viktoriya Nikiforova, the ballet master of Mariinsky Ballet, walking away, not willing to talk about anything other than her dancers; sponsors—company and investor names censored—alienating themselves from Viktor.

They exaggerate because the answers Viktor gave them yesterday were underwhelming. Plus, in lieu of satisfactory gossip, Andrei Nikiforov is more than helpful providing them with the kind of insider's information they like extra crispy for breakfast.

Viktor doesn't want to face the situation and measure how much damage that man caused him so far, but ignorance isn't the type of luxury he can afford right now. He needs to get in touch with all of his sponsors finally and see who his friends and who his foes are.

The smell of Hiroko’s fantastic breakfast turns Viktor's stomach upside-down as he's sitting at the lonely table with chopsticks in one hand and his laptop in the other. It's not Hiroko's fault of course; it's that stupidly tight knot responsible for nausea. He gives up on the juicy tuna, the veggies, and the miso soup because it feels safer to stick to only the rice.

He wonders if they know what oatmeal is in Japan… A nice bowl of unflavoured porridge would be his safest bet, three times a day. Maybe a banana too, if he felt extremely experimental.

Hiroko's hawkeyes catch him avoiding food, but instead of voicing any kind of opinion, she just brings some extra rice when she returns with Yuuri's portions.

Viktor won’t even be able to finish the first bowl probably, but he appreciates her kindness so much he doesn’t say anything.

He logs into his mailbox instead; there's the kind of overwhelming mess in there that he doesn’t have time to sort right away, so he filters his inbox to see Yakov's emails only, looking for the most current updated list of his sponsorships. Viktor's blessed the old man is pedantic enough to have forwarded it to him, because he doubts he'd start magically answering his calls if Viktor were to call to beg for contact details.

He might be too late. His father might have done irrecoverable damage while Viktor wasted precious hours in his misery instead of putting his gloves on like a grown-up would. He should have emailed these people the moment he landed in Japan anyway (he remembers remembering a while ago, but who's he kidding really?). Well… even if irrecoverable damage has been done, at least he wants to know how much he lost.

He just needs to compose a killer proposal that would convince his business partners that Viktor Nikiforov as a coach is still worth their money. He decides not to confirm that he's a selfish human ditching a lifetime worth of achievements in favor of a fellow sportsman's pretty face, focuses on the qualities they’d be looking for instead. Or, if his qualities don’t deem to be enough, then to have a look at rising star Katsuki Yuuri, who has yet to show the world how brilliant his skating is.

It’s such a gamble though. There’s no point denying it, but to be honest if Viktor’s about to lose his sponsors anyway, he might as well try absolutely anything. He doubts that his proposal, however desperate it reads, can do more harm than Andrei Nikiforov can.

“Good morning,” Yuuri says as he kneels on the other side of the table. Viktor didn’t even notice him come in.

"Hi, Yuuri." He glances up from his laptop and picks at the rice again.

His heart is beating ten times faster as his eyes fall on the gentle, reserved but curious features of his face and remembers how comforting his presence was yesterday. He regrets calling it a waste of time the moment their eyes lock and he almost feels like he’s back in that protective bubble Yuuri built around them.

Yuuri has questions in his eyes and Viktor hopes he doesn’t ask them, because he hasn’t got answers prepared. Even if they aren’t more complicated than a simple how are you? Neither his family nor the cruel Russian press is a topic Viktor would feel comfortable to discuss with anyone other than Yakov.

But he also wishes that this new level of comfort and friendliness won’t vanish with the flick of Yuuri’s fingers.

“Do you want these?” He asks to distract him, pushing the little bowls scattered around his laptop towards Yuuri. It’s just fish and vegetables after all, and having an extra portion of those won’t mess with his diet. “It’d be a waste to throw them away.”

“Is there something wrong with them?” Yuuri asks suspiciously, picking up the bowl with the little cubes of fresh tuna.

“Nothing wrong with them,” Viktor assures him with a shrug. It isn’t like Hiroko would cook anything less than amazing. “But it’s better if I stick with the rice today." He pats the still half-full bowl of white rice. He doesn’t offer further explanation and Yuuri quietly accepts it with a small “Ah.”

Small worry lines draw his eyebrows closer together, but thank goodness he keeps his questions to himself.

He passes Viktor the little piece of paper with his measurements instead, and Viktor pushes the laptop aside to add the new data to his chart. They have only a bit left, but the last kilograms are always the hardest to lose. Yuuri’s face has already dropped the childish chubbiness; he’s all high cheekbones and slightly rounded chin now, with a curving jawline Viktor remembers being fascinated with back at the banquet. His body follows the same kind of transformation; where there used to be a soft little pouch rounding the front of his t-shirts is now a flat abdomen, and his pants that used to stretch over what Viktor would, in circumstances that don’t involve professional skating, call perfectly rounded hips, are now a little loose.

...Way to fall from one unwanted train of thoughts under another.

He glances back at his laptop, at the empty email template that he’s supposed to fill with convincing words.

“What are you doing?” The uncertain question comes from Yuuri, and with reason too: Viktor isn’t often on his computer, only in the evenings when he’s alone and he feels like watching a movie.

It’s strange, how this simple attempt at conversation is pulling Viktor’s lips into the tiniest of smiles, even when he doesn’t feel a speck of happiness in himself. He cradles this feeling and it blooms in his heart like snowdrops in the frozen winter.

“I have to make sure we, well, you still have sponsors when the season begins,” he answers.

"But my only sponsor is Mizuno and they're fine, I told them I'll still compete this year so they’ll keep giving me free stuff.”

Oh, that’s good to know, Viktor didn’t think about Yuuri’s own collection of sponsors until now. He'll need to look into who this Mizuno is.

…Or is it that brand of sports outfits Yuuri’s wearing? He squints at the logo on his black and white t-shirt. Okay, right.

“I’m talking about _my_ contacts, Yuuri.”

“But Viktor—”

“No.”

Viktor stifles the argument before it starts. Of the few things Viktor learned about Yuuri, one is that he used to do part-time jobs in Detroit to cover the training and travel expenses his scholarship didn’t.

“If you have so much free time, I want you to spend it on the ice, not on stupid jobs for silly money that don’t lead to anything.” He holds onto the smile on his face.

Yuuri stiffens.

“What’s wrong with sponsors if they’re willing to pay?” He asks and makes sure his voice is gentler this time. He wants his point to go across, but he doesn’t want Yuuri to shy away from the conversation.

Yuuri chews on his bottom lip.

“Yuuri.” Viktor urges him to talk. They’re equal partners in this whole coach-skater business and he wishes the skater would finally get the memo.

“Who—” Yuuri starts then trails off.

“Yuuri,” Viktor repeats.

“Who would want to pay a loser?”

“…What?” _What?_

Yuuri shrugs. “They signed with you because you’re you, and… I’m not exactly the winning type like you.”

Viktor stares at Yuuri. The general vibe around Yuuri hints at that he's dealing with confidence issues, but never in his dreams did Viktor think his self-esteem is this low.

“If sponsors wanted only champions, I’d have to compete with myself,” Viktor points out what he hopes is a simple fact. Logic is good, logic usually works.

“Have you seen me skate at all...?” Yuuri asks quietly. “I mean… Apart from that one time I—”

“In fact, I watched all of your performances that I found online." Viktor points this out too.

“Oh…” Yuuri picks up the miso, but stops halfway to his mouth and puts it back on the table when he realizes the soup is shaking dangerously in his hands.

“Yuuuuri,” Viktor stresses his name, because why won’t he at least look at him? He was so confident yesterday when Viktor wasn’t, where’s that confidence now? “Do you think I’d have dropped my career and come here if you weren’t an excellent skater?”

“O-Of course n-not!” Yuuri stammers quickly. “I mean…” His voice is suddenly quiet again, resigned even. “I know you don’t usually socialize with other skaters… so there has to be something different about me, just… Well. Yeah… I’m…” He’s stubbornly looking at the seaweed swirling in his soup, looking for words and not finding them.

“Good,” Viktor says, putting an end to his self-activated stuttering. "You wouldn't want to doubt the judgment of the five times world champion, would you," he says and he knows there isn't anything Yuuri can possibly argue this with.

Confusing as this guy is, at least he's a good distraction from the whirlwind that's messing with Viktor's head… and stomach.

Ugh… Bad choice of thoughts. The knot tightens uncomfortably when he remembers that whirlwind.

He drops his eyes too and pulls the laptop closer. His fingers fumble over the keys and he keeps rewriting every sentence ten times. They never sound right, but it’s the best he can do. He declares the message finished when he realizes that most likely everyone made up their minds already and this one email will hardly change anything. After he’s done sending it to his Russian sponsors, he translates it into English for the international ones.

“Shall we avoid Ice Castle today?” Viktor isn’t really in the mood for reporters and he doesn’t want to pull Yuuri into the mess unfolding on the other side of the Sea of Japan any more than he already did. The ones stationing in front of Yu-Topia will be hard enough to ditch, but they might just escape while they’re still high on energy.

They left the yellow bike at the rink yesterday so Viktor will be jogging too (hopefully, he isn’t sure how long his stomach will agree with this decision…), and they choose to do the rounds of stretches indoors, where the nosy bunch of people can't see them.

The reporters, as expected, go wild when they spot their pair as they step outside fifteen minutes later. Viktor and Yuuri are surrounded before they even realize what’s going on, shouting their questions and pushing microphones into their faces. They answer a couple that's about Yuuri's training and ignore the ones aimed at Viktor, questions mostly digging under his skin with nails sharper than scalpels.

“How do you feel about sprinting?” He asks Yuuri, leaning close and murmuring to hide his plan from the hungrily eavesdropping crowd.

“Sounds great.”

Viktor grabs his wrist and tugs him past the surprised reporters, and breaks into the fastest run he can manage, making it impossible for these fancy office people in uncomfortable—although fashionable—shoes to follow them. Pure adrenaline burns in his veins instead of blood and he starts laughing at the mischief they complete. He whips his head back at Yuuri who isn’t able to hide his amusement either.

“I’ve never done something like this before!” Viktor exclaims giddily. However far Yakov’s dislike stretched regarding the press, he’d have killed Viktor for such blunt unprofessionalism.

“I have,” Yuuri confesses with a shy smile.

“Really?!” Mischievous Katsuki Yuuri, now that’s one of his personalities he’s familiar with. He slows down a bit now that they’re at a safe distance from the hot spring, but doesn't loosen his grip on Yuuri's wrist.

"When I debuted as a senior, I became kind of a sensation," Yuuri explains like it isn't something that happens to every professional athlete. “They had so many questions, it was really exhausting. So… I hid in toilet cubicles and other places until they gave up looking for me.”

Viktor snorts. Yeah, he can see him do that. If he was as shy back then as he’s now, it’s totally plausible.

“You still don’t like them.”

"I…" Yuuri stops, which forces Viktor to stop too. "I hate them."

“Because they’re intimidating?” Yuuri wouldn’t be the first nor the last to feel that way.

“No, I got used to their pushiness,” Yuuri answers quietly. “But I hate liars.”

Yeah, can’t argue with that…

“Are they lying about you?” Viktor can’t help remembering all those articles he read about him months ago, and can’t help wondering…

“I don’t think so, I’m not that interesting…”

“Then?”

But Yuuri doesn’t say anything. His shoes suddenly appear to be more interesting than this conversation, and it doesn’t sit right with Viktor. He squeezes his wrist and pulls him back into a moderately paced jog to distract him again.

“That may change now,” he says. “I don’t know if you realize, but I’m the tabloid's favorite subject. I'm quite troublesome, they say." Viktor winks at him, making a joke of something that he doesn’t really find all that funny.

"Like I said, they're liars,” Yuuri huffs.

Oh.

Oh.

* * *

 

When Viktor refuses to cooperate, the reporters eventually leave one after another. Though the number of new articles doesn't decrease and they never become any more flattering either, at least in Hasetsu he's the only one who can understand what they say.

The answers from his sponsors trickle in slowly and Viktor's initial disappointment eases even slower; the straight-out rejections arrive way faster than those with remaining interest. Andrei Nikiforov, however influential in his country, doesn't get to have a strong grip on worldwide known brands, so most of those contracts survive. They're even willing to keep an eye on Yuuri this season, see if he's the person they'd want in on a campaign; it almost feels like a luxurious extra, even if this is exactly what he was hoping for.

The painful knot in his stomach eases very slowly with the lack of effective medication.  Viktor’s fed up torturing his taste buds with plain white rice, but the one time he tries to have something different he ends up sicker than before.

Hiroko notices it, of course, she does, and switches from the nightly cup of green tea to a brand of yellow flower petals that Viktor’s to drink instead of water by the liter all day every day. It looks like urine and the bitter taste permanently sits on his tongue, but it does help soothe the pain.

He picks up On Love: Eros and Agape too on the occasions when his stomach isn’t complaining particularly much, babies them, improves them beyond perfection. His feelings for Yuuri are way tamer than back in St Petersburg; being close to his inspiration tipped Viktor's obsession back on the healthy side, and although his heart still swells every time Yuuri regards him with his attention, he's learnt to accept that the passionate Yuuri he met at the banquet was probably a one night only miracle. Viktor slowly dissociates the reserved Katsuki Yuuri he gets to know in Hasetsu from Yuuri Katsuki, that wasted hot mess from before.

But even if Yuuri doesn’t quite meet Viktor where he laid his feelings out for him to see, he isn’t shying away from conversation anymore. He even initiates them from time to time, and although very personal topics are still off the table, he’s more and more receptive to Viktor’s curious questions.

He’s finally settling in, fitting himself into a new daily routine, fitting himself into Yuuri’s daily routine too. He's learning Japanese, he's exploring Hasetsu, and finds that with a dozen useful sentences and a slowly but steadily growing vocabulary, he can hold very basic conversations with the locals.

"You look like you're doing great, Viktor!”

Yuri?

What is Yuri Plisetsky doing in Ice Castle?

Looking at the scrunched-up face, there’s no doubt he crossed the planet for an important reason.

Viktor promised him a debut program, didn’t he?

He joins Yuri and Yuuri at the exit of the rink and listens to the teenager's upset rant. The reminder Viktor set on his phone after Yakov warned him was ignored in the spur of the moment, when he was packing his life into two dozen cardboard boxes. Well, he guesses he deserves the string of complaints, but Yuri should have known better – it's not like this hasn't happened before.

They’re speaking in English for Yuuri’s benefit, who is quietly observing them from the sideline. The contrast between him and the Russian's selfish, demanding, outright rude attitude is astounding.

“A promise is a promise! Let’s go back to Russia!”

Viktor can't look away from Yuuri because his reaction to the teenager's exclamation is sending shivers up his spine. He looks like his entire world just started crumbling around him, like losing Viktor is the worst thing imaginable to happen to him, and Viktor needs to look away from his devastated face so he can compose himself.

It’d be ridiculous to even consider Yuri’s request. Even if Viktor wanted to go home, he doesn't think it's physically possible to walk away from Katsuki Yuuri. Not when he hasn’t even seen him skate yet, not when his hometown is such a great place to be. Not when Andrei Nikiforov is ready to tear him into tiny little pieces.

He can make this work for everyone. He can teach a choreography to Yuri in Hasetsu and send him back to Yakov. Actually, why not use the opportunity to get Yuuri back into a competitive state of mind too? Stimulate him with the presence of another excellent skater? Wouldn’t it be brilliant to let them have a go against each other? Especially since they never settled the scores at the dance-off after the Finals, and he knows Yura holds a grudge better than a shrewish old man? The people of Hasetsu love skating, and would surely love to see their local hero perform.

Aaactually, why not use On Love: Eros and Agape? He knows just which to assign to who. They both could do with some healthy character development after all. And maybe, maaaybe a taste of Yuuri’s own medicine wouldn’t hurt him either. Not like Viktor's petty or anything… Well… maybe he is, a little.

The triplets will organize the event, which they decide to call Onsen on Ice, so Viktor can solely focus on training the contestants. He’ll need to do slight adjustments to make the programs equally difficult; if they end up using these pieces later in the season, Viktor, signing both choreographies, wouldn’t want to be accused of being partial towards either of them.

Yuri reacts exactly the way Viktor expects him to, riding the challenge as it comes, but Yuuri’s suddenly looking at the rink like it’s his mortal enemy, a monster too large to defeat. He’s rambling about losing and punishments and it baffles Viktor because even if the kid is the junior world champion, Yuuri is just as good a skater.

Viktor takes it upon himself to show Yuri around in Ice Castle and then in the town, and Yuuri’s free to join them for a little fun, but he chooses to stay in the rink. It's understandable; according to their calculations, he's finally back to his competitive weight and that means for the first time in over two weeks he's allowed to skate. In a reversed situation, Viktor would abandon everything and everyone in favor of his beloved pair of skates too.

Through the youngster, Viktor learns that Yakov took personal offense when he realized Viktor won't be running back home with his tail between his legs, but at least he’s doing well. He gets an update on what’s going on at the rink too, but not much on the current gossips circling about Viktor himself… Yuri couldn't care less about news in general so he's barely up-to-date on anything that doesn’t appear on his Twitter and Instagram timelines.

It’s good to have someone besides Yuuri to talk to, and in Russian too! The freedom of expressing himself with an unlimited number of synonyms is rejuvenating, even if his English is nothing to be ashamed of.

By the time they get to Yu-Topia in the evening, Yuuri’s already back. They agree that as an underage, Yuri shouldn't be wandering around the town alone, so he ends up taking the tiny storage space that opens directly from Viktor’s room where he currently keeps all of his unpacked stuff. Yuri doesn’t seem to care as long as he can stay where Viktor’s staying, and Viktor welcomes the idea of a new neighbor, even if it's only for a week or so.

The evening continues in a similarly bright mood. They're having a modest dinner. Yuuri's sticking to his noodle-less veggie stir-fry and Yurio (Yurio! How genius a nickname this is! Viktor's had a difficult time keeping their names separate in his head the whole day - Mari's right when she says the similarity in pronunciation is too confusing) tries the legendary Katsuki katsudon. Viktor leaves his stomach in peace and trusts Hiroko's judgment when she gives him something to drink.

Yurio brings a certain kind of comfort—the comfort of home, maybe? Viktor doesn’t know—into the little room and Viktor feels relaxed like he hasn’t felt in a very long time. So much actually that it takes him longer than usual to notice that Yuuri never returns to the dining-room after Mari drags him away to help cleaning.

“At a time like this, he’d be at Minako’s place or in the Ice Castle,” she says like it’s nothing out of the ordinary.

And it isn’t, Viktor realizes. Yuuri spends almost every evening with his dance teacher. They must share a very tight bond, he thinks… Lilia would have skinned Viktor alive dared he ask to teach him outside her work hours.

“I’ll check if he’s at Minako-san’s place then.”

For Mari’s credit, she shows her surprise for a fracture of a second only before she continues cleaning their table.

“Will you take care of Yurio for me?” He asks and she just rolls her eyes with an amused smile. She seems to like him and she won’t have a difficult job anyway; a sleepy Yurio is a tame Yurio, and it shouldn't be a challenge to help him back into his room once he comes at.

“You foreigners have no manners,” is all she says, but Viktor knows by now that her strange humor is just that – strange humor.

Yuuri started to act terribly off after Yurio arrived, and as his coach, Viktor has to make sure he’s alright. He’s been literally beaming that morning, radiant with the opportunity to slip his pair of skates on and skate to his pleasure, but there was none of that happiness left in his eyes after the youngster arrived.

Minako's place isn't quite what Viktor expected when he stands in front the door. It doesn't look like a dance studio but it isn't an apartment either… He can't read the pink neon sign above the door, but he recognizes it for what it is when he pulls it open.

It’s a really small bar. A counter with two pairs of seats and a small table in each corner. Minako is alone, absorbed in a book. The cupboard behind her is full of plates and glasses. The most attention-grabbing decoration is the enormous poster of Yuuri on the left-hand side, the same one Viktor sees in every corner of the town.

Minako folds the book when she notices her new guest.

“Hi.” Viktor smiles at her. “Cozy place.”

“Teaching isn’t enough to pay the bills anymore.” She shrugs. “Come, sit.”

“Is Yuuri here?” Viktor asks. The place is entirely empty, but he checks in the corner on the left side of the counter, just in case. That turns out to be a tiny kitchen. "Mari said he might be here."

“Huh? Yuuri? He’s not here. Mari must have meant the ballet studio.”

“I must have confused the addresses then." It's so easy to mistake the names of streets if they're written in kanji…

“Yuuri wouldn’t come here.” Minako waves with her hand dismissingly, like even the idea of Yuuri in a bar is ridiculous. “Nothing really interests him unless it’s skating or dancing. “Why are you looking for him?" She asks, but she has the face of someone who already knows the answer. "He disappeared?"

Viktor allows his smile to grow as he nods. She's been Yuuri's dance instructor for most of his life, after all, it fits that she knows him as well as his family does. 

“Thought so.” She sighs. “I heard there’s another Russian skater in town now.”

“Yes. It’s quite a surprise to me as well. He's quite a handful too, and I think he intimidated Yuuri.”

Minako contemplates him for a few moments, then sighs for the third time. She brings out a fat bottle of something from under the counter and pours some into a tall glass, offers it to Viktor.

“Shochu,” she says. “You’ll like it.”

He tries it. She’s right. He can tell it’s quite a strong kind of liquor, but the taste is less characteristic than the spirits’ he’s more familiar with. He really shouldn’t be drinking this, especially not on an empty and still slightly sensitive stomach, but… It does feel great when the tension from his shoulders escapes; it’s been such a long time since he had a chance to relax, he isn’t even sure his muscles remember how to do it.

“Whenever Yuuri gets anxious he wants to practice, and I usually go along with him if he wants to dance. But Ice Castle lets him skate anytime it isn’t booked already, and he has keys. Yuuri was able to improve so much because he had a place where he could practice alone if that’s what he needed.”

Viktor listens carefully. Minako is telling him things about Yuuri he would never learn otherwise and he drinks her words with more thirst than he drinks the shochu.

"He's no genius when it comes to skating, but he was gifted with more free time than anyone else at the rink. It's hard to imagine he didn’t have a real coach until he made it into the international junior competitions, right?”

“He didn’t?” An unexpected surprise. The minimum age to join the junior championships is thirteen, but the rivalry is already very intense years before that point. Viktor can't help his puzzlement; it'd have to take a genius to wiggle his way in there without professional support.

Minako smiles fondly at memories nobody but she can see.

"He loved the ice from the moment he stepped on it as a tiny six-year-old," she continues. "I took him to the rink because he's such an outstanding dancer, but his body… well. With his body type, he would have never made it as a ballet dancer, but he was perfect as a skater. It was easy to turn his baby fat into muscles when he started to take skating seriously. It was still dancing, right, I thought.”

Viktor nods. He knows what she means, knows exactly how Yuuri’s body works after two weeks of tremendous training and dieting.

“He fell in love,” she continues. “The instructors in Hasetsu only taught him the basics, but he was practicing after school every day with Yuuko-chan. It was fine for the time being, transferring his knowledge from my studio to the ice was enough. He didn’t want to compete until he saw you on TV anyway.” The fond smile grows on her face.

Viktor’s meek in the focus of her glance. Of course, he knew that Yuuri looked up at him since he was twelve, but Hiroko never told him the full story.

“He was infatuated with the way you skated,” Minako says. “I don’t even know how to describe what it was like watching him transform, but it was because of you. As I said, the instructors taught him the basic spins and single jumps, but it was all him, watching you and learning from you, that he became good enough to qualify for competitions. I’m not good at skating, but I learned how to translate dance sequences onto the ice, and I made him choreographies. We were such a good team: me, him, and you.”

Viktor’s heart swells ten, a hundred, a thousand, a million times until it feels like it'll burst like an enormous balloon.

Fuck.

He walks the distance from Minako’s bar to the rink blindly, and it wouldn’t make a difference if he got lost on the way because he’s already lost in his thoughts anyway.

Can devotion like Yuuri’s even be real? How is it that a little boy grew up loving Viktor this much, and Viktor didn’t even know he existed until so recently?

Minako says Yuuri isn't a genius, but he basically self-taught himself to qualify for competitions? Who does that?! Viktor was six when he started skating as well, and he was under Yakov's supervision since the first second. Wouldn't even have known where to start teaching himself if he was on his own.

Why is Yuuri acting nothing like the way both Hiroko and Minako keep describing him?

The feelings he sorted so well since his arrival get jumbled up again. He stomps on them to flatten them out, but they're still sort of unorderly.

Viktor finds Makkachin napping on one of the blue benches at the lockers while Takeshi is taking him to the control room right next to the ice, so Viktor can observe Yuuri without disrupting him. Yuuko’s there already, leaning on the long table with unusual seriousness, eyes fixed on the figure on the other side of the glass. On Yuuri. Yuuri, who is deep in his thoughts and is drawing slow, random loops and curvy shapes infinitely into the ice just like Viktor when his brain overspills.

“He always comes here to practice alone,” they confirm what Minako has already told him.

Viktor's eyes are locked on him. It's the first time he sees him skate, really sees him, not through his laptop's or his phone's screen. He has the spine of a ballet dancer: straight and centered, graceful and elegant, frozen in a perfect picture. And he isn’t even being serious, doesn’t even hold his chin up or pull his shoulders back on a conscious level or try to pick up some speed, get some artistry into his movements. It’s just there, obvious to the world like how the grass is green or the sky blue.

“He didn’t even play with his friends,” Yuuko says. She smiles. She means herself by friends. Yuuri never hangs out with anyone other than Minako or the Nishigori family, so they have to be all that his tiny social circle extends to.

“Well, he was never good at making them,” Takeshi adds. “Apart from skating, he isn’t good at putting himself out there. I don’t want him to lose this advantage.”

“Me neither,” Yuuko sighs.

It’s a conversation between the two of them, but in English for Viktor’s benefit. Viktor keeps quiet and lets the melancholy on Yuuri’s face sink into his memory.

“He actually hates losing,” Yuuko says.

“Haven’t seen someone more stubborn than him,” Takeshi agrees.

Listening to the people closest to Yuuri telling stories is like a small revelation. He thinks he understands him a little better now.

A prince, a skating prodigy disguised as a piggy. He just needs the right kind of magic spell to reveal his true identity.

* * *

 

The next morning finds Yurio in a grumpy mood – well, grumpier than usual, considering how sulky he usually is anyway.

He slumps down on Viktor’s bed as soon as he stumbles out of his assigned bedroom and crawls under the duvet.

“Good morning!” Viktor beams at him. His day couldn’t start any better: the stomach ache is gone, he slept better than in the weeks prior, and he’s got someone who understands Russian!

“Good night,” Yurio grumbles groggily.

“Hey!” Viktor pulls the duvet off his lazy arse. “Training starts in forty minutes.”

“You’re not my coach.” The youngster fights to free Viktor’s bedding trapped in his hands.

“If you want my choreography, I am.”

“Why do you have a bed and I have to sleep on the stupid floor?! All of my bones hurt!”

“Maybe I have a bed because I'm polite to people who accommodate me.” Viktor winks at him.

“And that stupid music too! Who’s listening to that crap in the middle of the night?!” Then the boy’s attention drifts from Viktor to the door before Viktor can say anything. “What are you looking at, piggy?” He uses the same pissed off Russian language he’s been addressing Viktor with.

Viktor whips his head and there’s Yuuri in the door, his face reflecting the kindness of someone who doesn’t realize he’s being insulted.

“Good morning?” Yuuri raises his eyebrows.

Yurio scowls and turns away.

“Good morning, Yuuri!” Viktor reciprocates his gentle smile. “Let’s have breakfast!”

He grabs his backpack that already has his skates and the small speakers he borrowed from Mari earlier today.

“Is he okay?” Yuuri tilts his head towards Yurio who buried himself under the duvet again.

“Yes. He can join us when he remembers how to speak English," Viktor says cheerfully.

“He seems to be complaining a lot,” Yuuri muses tensely as if it’s his fault Yurio acts like this. They’re being ushered into the private dining room by Hiroko, and Yuuri takes the heavy tray packed with breakfast from her. He starts organizing the small dishes on the table.

 “Don’t worry about it,” Viktor assures him as he sits at the opposite side, chopstick digging into plain rice. Maybe he’ll give in to his craving and try some of the other stuff too, see how his ache-free tummy reacts to it. “You handled him well at the banquet, just keep doing that.”

“At the banquet?” Yuuri blinks at him, confusion sitting on his face.

Viktor blinks back.

“Yes, when you—”

Yurio chooses that moment to stomp into the small room and throw himself on one of the pillows on the floor.

It's the first time Viktor mentions the banquet, and Yuuri acts like he doesn't know what he's talking about. Sure, he was completely wasted and Viktor can see how a naturally shy person would rather want to forget about it, but surely, he knows by now that Viktor doesn’t care?

“What’s with your faces?” Yurio asks, unceremoniously pulling a portion of rice closer to him, dumping a bit of everything else and some sauce on it, mixing it clumsily with chopsticks he doesn’t know how to hold.

Yuuri stares at him as if he's doing something sacrilegious like setting bibles on fire.

“Don’t you have cutleries or something?" Yurio goes on. "How do you even eat with these things?" He waves the bamboo chopsticks in the air.

Yuuri’s face eventually merges from shock to amusement and pushes the fork that Hiroko set on the table especially for him in front of him.

This week will be long. Viktor will age at least ten years dealing with these two. He’s got the programs ready for them both after he came back from Ice Castle last night; he'll present them when they get to the rink, and after that, it'll be training upon training upon training. It'll be exhausting, but it will also be lots of fun. And then after the skate-off, everything will go back to normal.

Except…

Well.

“If I win, you’ll come back to Russia and you’ll be my coach! I want this as my prize!”

“Sure,” Viktor agrees because he sees it as a great opportunity to motivate both of his skaters. On one hand, Yurio needs to know his program by heart, so when he returns to St Petersburg he'll have no problem practicing it without Viktor's supervision. On the other hand, the defeat Yuuri’s ego took at the Grand Prix Final left him bruised and faithless, and skating to keep Viktor around might just be the right kind of motivation to kick-start his fighting spirit.

The reaction he expects from the latter doesn’t arrive right away though; Yuuri falls apart twice as violently as he did yesterday. He meets Viktor’s eyes with the type of horror on his face that knocks the air out of Viktor’s lungs just by looking at him.

There’s no way he still thinks he’s a lesser skater than Yuri Plisetsky, right?

“How about you, Yuuri?” He probes him gently. Come on, Yuuri, have faith in your skills.

This isn't just about his confidence though; this is the perfect chance to prove that what Minako says is correct. That Viktor coaching anyone else wouldn’t be half as impactful as coaching Katsuki Yuuri, because he is who Katsuki Yuuri has been learning from since the very beginning. That he isn’t just silently putting up with Viktor’s impulsive decision to show up at his doorstep, but that he wants Viktor as a coach just as much as Viktor wants to coach him.

"What would you like to do if you win?"

“I want to eat katsudon with you,” the answer comes in a quiet mumble.

There it is. Nowhere near as bluntly straightforward as Yurio’s request, but it leaves no doubt it Viktor. The only way the two of them will be able to share that katsudon is if Viktor stays.

“I want to keep winning and keep eating katsudon with you!”

Viktor’s eyes shine with his. This is exactly what he wanted to hear from him.

“Great! I love it when you talk like this!”

“Is he an idiot? This is so stupid," Yurio scoffs in Russian, and Viktor ignores him.

Yuuri glances at Yurio with a hint of uncertainty back on his face.

“Show some respect and speak English,” Viktor scolds Yurio pointedly in everyone’s common language, then skates with Yuuri when he turns on his heels to put some distance between himself and the boy with the poisonous tongue.

"Hey," he places a hand on Yuuri's shoulder in an attempt to stop him.

“I’m confident I’ll win this,” he squeaks, but his face still mirroring mild bewilderment and the sweat gathering just under his hairline speaks differently.

“Of course you will,” Viktor tells him gently.

He passes him the little black remote control that belongs to the mini-stereo when they finally stop next to the exit.

“Play the music for me?” He asks when Yuuri steps off the ice. He takes the little device and reaches for his skate guards, then watches as Viktor signals Yurio to get off the ice too and returns to the center.

He’s starting with On Love: Agape. Unconditional love; definitely something the self-centered Yurio needs to be reminded of. Even if the theme doesn’t fit him perfectly—he has never experienced romantic love after all—he can bend it to match what experience he does have. Everything and everyone can be loved unconditionally and love doesn’t necessarily need to be the romantic kind. Yurio needs to search for the one thing that can tame his hormone-fuelled, irritating behavior.

Yurio hates it; it’s perfect. Even if the themes weren’t perfect matches to his contestants, Viktor still wouldn’t assign them differently. Nobody expects Russia’s aggressive Ice Tiger to skate like a kitten – just like nobody expects Japan’s stoic faced Ace, once he steps on the ice, to set it on fire.

Viktor shifts his eyes to Yuuri and syncs with the eros inside him before the next track starts.

He finds Yuuri’s eyes just in time so he can catch his lopsided, playful smile, and he throws in an equally flirty wink too for good measure. Then he turns his hips before he can witness his reaction and throws himself into the choreography, a memoir of the only night of his life that's worth remembering. Yuuri’s eyes glued to him are a premium quality fuel that pushes him into the next move, and the next one, and the one after.

Yuuri almost tumbles on the ice, not even fully aware that he left the barrier at one point to skate closer to Viktor.

“How was it?” Viktor asks, his jumbled-up emotions enjoying the sight just a little too much. He knows exactly how it was because even if Yuuri's stuttering voice betrays him, the flush on his cheeks doesn't.

Hmm… Confidence issues. How does Viktor motivate someone who can’t believe in his own talent? How does he teach him how to have faith in himself? Viktor never really had this sort of problem. Skating has always been the only thing he knew he was good at, so confidence came naturally.

Jumps are easy to teach; they’ll pull apart Yuuri’s skills and build them back up from scratch. Teaching him how to be sexy though… Especially when he knows perfectly well how to be addictively sexy when he wants to… is an entirely different issue. Viktor can’t just pour a bottle of champagne down his throat and install a pole in the middle of the rink for him to feel comfortable enough to show that side of him.

He glides closer to him on impulse, penetrates his personal space so Yuuri has nothing and no one else to look at. He looks at Viktor like Viktor hypnotized him, like he's the most mesmerizing creature he's ever seen. And it's exactly this eros he's projecting on Yuuri now that he wants to see in return. He runs his thumb over plush lips and he's peripherally aware that he's playing a dangerous game; a last, little puff of air on the tip of his finger and then nothing else is proof that he's making Yuuri breathless. He could just tip his head down and kiss him right here, seal this feeling inside this shy brain so he'll remember later.

Yurio’s growing impatient.

“Think long and hard about what eros is to you,” Viktor says before he turns away. If it’s not evident after Viktor basically swept him off his feet, then honestly, he has some serious thinking to do.

He sends him to the far end of the rink for the rest of the day to practice the elements he’s not so good with.

“What the fuck, Viktor?” Is what Yurio welcomes him with this time.

“What’s the problem?” Smile.

“My problem is that this competition isn’t fair at all!”

"Why, do you want a kiss too?" Viktor snorts, endlessly amused by the teenager's unrealistic sense of justice.

“What are you talking about?! I’m telling you this is about the competition!”

"The choreographies fare equally in points if you're worried about that," Viktor points it out, still quietly snickering.

“Yeah, but will I get the prize you promised if I win?!”

Viktor pats his head. “Let this go, Yura.”

“Why?!”

“You know very well that with me gone, you’re the best skater Russia has right now. But if you want to be as good as me one day, then you need Yakov. I would have never even thought of becoming a coach if it wasn’t for Yuuri.”

“Then bring him back with us. You can coach both of us.”

“This isn’t how life works, Yura. Yakov is your coach.”

"It's not the same without you, alright?!" The teenager admits reluctantly. "I wanted to be a senior so I could finally beat you!"

Viktor smiles and holds onto his need to ruffle the teenager’s hair.

“You’re the best,” he insists.

“Watch out for Yuuri,” Viktor says patiently. “Don’t underestimate him.”

“Whatever.” Yurio rolls his eyes. “He’s a crybaby.”

“Stop calling him names.” Viktor sips from the water that he left on the barrier—the bottle with the pink cap—and pulls Yurio on the ice by his hoodie.

“Why? It's true.”

“Skate, Yura.” He shows him the beginning of the choreography a couple of times, with the boy copying every intricate move until he grasps them all. It’s like trying to teach a demon how to dance like an angel. He pushes him harder than Yakov ever pushed him, and that at least shuts him up for the time being.

He doesn’t know which one of them is more frustrated by the end of the day: Viktor watching Yurio butchering his choreography with the aggressive desire to do it better than him, or Yurio when Viktor’s unable to explain what exactly agape means. He knows he’s being childish when he turns the table on the younger one and mocks him for his inexperience, but the boy has it coming really.

When Takeshi butts in, what he says is probably meant as a joke, but Viktor’s intrigued: why don’t they visit the temple close-by, where Yurio can learn how to meditate? Meditation helps to calm the agitated mind, helps to find things that are lost in the depths of the soul, and Yurio definitely needs to explore the idea of both. Viktor is also interested in a personal level; he won't be exercising with the teenager, but he considers learning it for his own benefit in the future.

The weird day doesn’t end after their session; it steps up another level in the baths, when all Yuuri regards the sight of his naked, exposed body with is a reminder that taking photos are not permitted. It’s the first time they’re sharing the pool too.

“Really? But it’d be just me,” Viktor whines. “I would never force you to take nudes of the pensioners inside if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

Yuuri loses balance and slips underwater for a second, and Yurio snorts.

His students are blissfully exhausted by the time they collapse in the restaurant for dinner. They aren’t interested in food, which is kind of disappointing since Viktor's making such a show eating his share of katsudon (especially now that his stomach won't refuse it) to inspire them to touch their own plates. Yurio has his own pork cutlet bowl, and Yuuri's got steamed broccoli and bean sprouts. Yuuri, out of the two of them, seems to be suffering especially lot.

Then he perks up so suddenly that both Viktor and Yurio make a little, startled jump. He’s about to turn the weirdness up by another notch.

“I get it now!” He exclaims with the sort of madness in his eyes that Viktor isn’t familiar with yet. He looks almost like a lunatic, and Viktor can’t say he doesn’t sound like one when he exclaims, “Katsudon! That is eros to me!”

After everything Viktor's done today, he compares sexiness to a bowl of… food? Is this his idea of desire and of being desired? Even now, when Viktor’s making sure his jinbei is pulling apart in the right places so Yuuri can have a look at his bare chest whenever he looks his way?

Viktor’s been trying to help him find his eros this entire evening and he finds it in Yurio’s untouched pork cutlet bowl?

Over-prolonged, strict diets can cause hallucinations and Yuuri does look a little insane right now, but…

“Okay, let’s go with it,” he says in the end, because really, what else is there to say if Yuuri’s being serious? “The idea is nice and unique.” At least this much is true.

“Are you kidding me?” Yurio grunts beside him. “After what you did at the banquet?”

“What?” Yuuri squeaks, eyeing him.

Viktor kicks the youngster under the table and glares at him.

Yurio’s lips curl into a dangerous grin.

Viktor kicks him again.

“What, he doesn’t remember?” He asks in Russian.

"What?" Yuuri repeats in English and dread is spreading on his face even though he can't possibly understand the question.

“Yurio’s been to the temple to meditate,” Viktor says quickly, making sure Yuuri’s looking at him, not the gossipy blond. He doesn't even know what's supposed to happen during a ritual at the temple, but he still says, “His mind switched off.”

“It did not!” Yurio barks the same time Yuuri lets out a slight “Oh…”

Then Yuuri stumbles to his feet and quickly excuses himself, and Viktor encourages Makkachin to go after him.

Yurio turns his grin towards Viktor.

"Don't mention the banquet again," Viktor warns him.

“Why? That’s the only cool moment in his entire existence.”

“He wants to forget it.”

“Why would he? And why are you playing along? I thought this is exactly why you’re here.”

"I'm here because he's wasting his talent," Viktor points it out, and strictly speaking, it's true. He probably wouldn’t have left Russia if Yuuri didn’t show the potential to be a champion by skating to Stammi Vicino.

Viktor’s still awake hours after Yurio drops on his futon in the little storage room, sleeping as soon as his head hits the pillow. He listens to the familiar padding of Yuuri's shoeless feet down the corridor after midnight, excitement curling around his ribs as he's waiting for tonight's soundtrack.

Except there’s no music tonight.

* * *

 

The doubt that Yuuri’s katsudon reference is a prank withers in its roots as soon as the trio starts intense practice: that guy is approaching the concept with such serious concentration and pursues the feeling with such intensity that there’s no more uncertainty in Viktor.

Yuuri never stops being a breathing, walking contradiction; rather, every new information Viktor gathers about him just confuses him more. Even with the complete lack of his romantic history, it’s hard to believe that the one thing he associates sexuality with is a bowl of katsudon.

Viktor does his best to wrap his mind around this phenomenon, takes his time to understand his skater. He has to, because this is what he gets to work with for the rest of the season, and unless he understands the complexity and strangeness of Yuuri’s perception of himself and the program he personally inspired, unless he can squeeze some real emotions into his program, they'll lose Yuuri's biggest advantage: the emotional side of his performance.

He needs to trust Yuuri.

* * *

 

It’s the third day of practice and the third night Viktor tosses and turns in bed, unable to relax without the soft music echoing through the walls. Makkachin escaped again, and his bed is too cold without him.

He crawls out from under the heavy duvet and ties the abandoned jinbei around his body. He tiptoes his way to Yurio’s room and slides the door open; checks if maybe he’s awake, but the boy is too exhausted to last into the dead of night. He’s too drained to even complain about the lack of a proper bed.

Viktor picks up his phone and quietly slides between the gap of his door and the frame where Makkachin struggled his way out earlier. Yuuri’s door has a similar gap and Viktor fights the need to look inside the room he’s never been allowed to see. He walks to the long panels of windows instead and looks out into the garden, slightly foggy from the humidity that the wind sweeps the house’s way from the baths.

He wraps his arms around himself; the snow melted a long time ago and the weather is warm enough to leave the heavy coats at home during the days, but it still gets chilly in the nights – especially with walls thin like paper.

He leans his forehead slightly against the wooden panels, runs a hand through his disheveled mane of hair and breathes in the smell of damp wood.

What would Yakov do? Viktor has been responsible for his choreographies for over a decade and he doesn’t remember what it was like when his coach was in charge of designing them. What was it like when Viktor had to feel something that someone else assigned him to feel? He doesn’t remember much of his junior years, but he does remember last season all too well and wants nothing more than to avoid putting Yuuri on the same road he walked, the one that turned out to be a straight road to hell.

The cold of the glass feels like sharp needles prickling his forehead, and the throb at his temples that developed slowly and successively during the evening intensifies. He draws his arms tighter around himself.

The element of surprise is a skater’s biggest weapon and Viktor stood for this theory for as long as he can remember, but if the theme is too alien and the skater can’t relate to it in any way… then there’s no point pressuring him. Viktor never had a problem adjusting to new themes; they were challenges and he was always looking forward to them. He loved the thrill of putting on a new personality every spring until he’d shred it a year later like a snake sheds skin.

But Yuuri… Yuuri isn’t an actor. His strongest quality on ice is his honesty, his bare, unfiltered emotions pouring out of his heart and spreading on the ice like the flowers he carves with his blades. How far can he push him?

Viktor can wait a bit, see whether Yuuri figures it out until the competition in four days. It’s a pretty tight frame of time, but they don’t have a lot to work with. They’re pretty far behind actually, as far as preparations for the season go; they have no free program and no costumes. If On Love: Eros fails, they don't have a short program either. Viktor wouldn't be this worried if they started preparing in January like Viktor usually did, but summer is approaching way too fast and autumn is just a step away from there.

It's just so frustrating because Viktor _has witnessed_ what Yuuri’s capable of when his shyness doesn’t hold him back – he _knows_ exactly how to trigger the eros in him, but every time he tries, he crashes into a brick wall, face-first. If Yuuri needs to drink himself nearly into a stupor to seduce someone, then Viktor doesn't want any of it.

The feeling of uselessness closes in on him slowly, creeping up on his spine with ice-cold fingers and wrapping around his throat. The feeling is so sudden, so unexpected, so out of place that he nearly chokes on the icy grasp.

“Viktor…”

Viktor snaps his head in the direction of the sleepy voice and freezes in terror when he sees Yuuri standing in the door.

“Makka heard something… Was it you?”

It takes him longer than usual to fix the smile on his face. Though he avoids his reflection in the window so he can’t see what sort of face he’s pulling, he doesn’t think he’s very convincing.

“Just can’t seem to sleep tonight,” he answers quietly.

Yuuri purses his lips and measures Viktor for a few moments before he speaks next.

“I can’t sleep either. I was listening to music…”

“Ah…” So he didn’t stop listening to music, he just stopped… sharing it.

Yuuri turns his head away. He’s staring inside his room intently, probably because Makka’s doing something cute—

“Do you… Would you like to come in?” He says when he looks back at Viktor, uncertainty so evident both in his voice and on his face that Viktor momentarily forgets about choking.

"Yeah," the tiny smile pulling at the corners of his lips is honest finally.

Yuuri pushes the door open wider and Viktor sees the hand that’s been hidden behind it, clutching his phone with his earphones dangling from between his fingers.

Is this real…? He wanders over and it's real, Yuuri steps aside and lets him slip inside. Makkachin is on the bed, happily wagging his tail and looking extremely content with his life.

“There’s not a lot of space in here,” Yuuri murmurs as an excuse, but the size of the room is the last thing Viktor cares about.

“It’s cozy,” he says instead.

“Yeah…” Yuuri agrees.

He looks like he doesn’t know what to do with himself for a few moments, then starts for his bed, sits with his back to the window and pulls the duvet over his lap. He presses one of the buds of his earphone back into his ear and holds out the other one, offers it to Viktor.

Offers space on his bed.

It’s not the first time, Viktor reminds himself as he climbs under the cover and takes the grey piece of device from Yuuri. They’ve shared Viktor’s bed when they were watching animal documentaries.

“Don’t let me interrupt whatever you were doing,” Viktor mumbles. The music in his ear is like a soothing balm to his exhausted soul.

Yuuri leans his head against the window and pulls his knees up.

“I wasn’t really doing anything," he answers in a very similar tone of voice. “I just… l like to close my eyes and just listen to music until I fall asleep.”

Their shoulders press together as they sit tightly, otherwise the cords wouldn't be long enough to share, and that feeling combined with the melancholic piano and violin piece in his ear slowly melts the icy imprint around Viktor's throat and his spine.

“Really? Why?”

“It’s too quiet otherwise.”

“I thought you liked quiet…” Viktor wonders aloud.

“Yeah, I do… Just not… when it’s too quiet outside and too loud inside. My head. If you know what I mean.” Yuuri isn’t very good at explaining this. Isn't very good with words generally, and seems to give up when the sentence doesn't come out as consistently as he probably intends.

It’s fine. As long as Yuuri’s willing to open up, Viktor will be there to listen.

“I think I do,” Viktor answers after a while when Yuuri’s able to breathe again. "It's a good distraction. Every song is a new story.” It’s his life basically. A series of songs stitched together, new songs joining the rest every time a new season starts. A chain of stories Viktor wishes were true.

“Mmm." Yuuri hums.  “Sometimes… I lay down and listen and imagine that I’m somebody else.”

“Who?” Viktor asks quietly because it's so similar to how he feels. He gently prompts him to continue and hopes he won’t withdraw into his little shell.

“Nobody. Just the person I wish I was…”

Oh. So similar.

Yuuri ducks his head and wedges his chin in the little space between his knees.

“Don’t you like who you are?”

Yuuri just shrugs.

“Yuuri?”

“It’s not like that, just… My friend always says my thoughts control me and that it’s supposed to be the other way around," he mumbles and closes his eyes, presses his lips so tightly together that they form a thin line.

“Is that why it’s so loud in your head? Because you can’t control your thoughts?”

Yuuri nods.

Is he trying to imagine being somebody else right now?

"Why did you stop listening to the music aloud?" Viktor asks instead of that other question. Yuuri’s retreating like always when the conversation becomes too personal, and the only thing that stops him is a distraction.

Yuuri turns his head just slightly, enough to have a look at Viktor from the corner of his eyes. “Yurio hated it.”

“That kid never shuts up,” Viktor sighs. “Did he complain to you?”

“No, he…” Yuuri stiffens for a second, shoulders drawing in defensively. “I figured…”

"Can you listen to the music loud again when Yurio's gone? I like to hear it in my room."

“Viktor…”

When Viktor looks at him, Yuuri is breathtaking with his confused face and large, chestnut-like eyes, and Viktor finds that he can’t look away. He shrugs and allows a lopsided little smile.

It feels like spying when Viktor chances a glance around the tiny room. It's bare and impersonal; the walls are a funny color, lighter in spots and darker in the rest like they held posters once upon a time, and the only furniture besides the bed is a small desk and some little drawers. There's a cactus, smaller than the one in the hallway. A piggy bank. Towels? A keyboard, tucked behind the towels. Can Yuuri play it? Lots of books. A display of all of his medals and trophies, a beautiful collection of golds, silvers, and bronzes. Viktor’s framed photo on the table. Viktor’s staring at it. Is that Yuuri's favorite photo?

He doesn’t know how much time passes, doesn’t check his phone. The music they’re listening to is so calming it lulls Viktor slowly into oblivion. His head keeps lolling onto Yuuri's shoulder and eventually, he gives up trying to keep it upright.

* * *

 

The bed is empty when Viktor wakes up the next morning. He learns from Hiroko that Yuuri headed out hours ago, and that leaves Viktor wondering if he’s slept at all? He can't be anywhere else than the Ice Castle… Viktor wouldn't normally be worried any other day because this just means that Yuuri needs some time alone, but skating after a night spent awake can be an extremely dangerous game to play…

Viktor’s night ended surprisingly comforting in Yuuri’s room, but that isn’t how Yuuri felt apparently. He’s his coach now so he needs to make sure he’s okay. And if he’s not fit to skate, it’s better to take him off the ice before he falls the wrong way.

Yurio just about makes it to breakfast when Viktor takes off with Makka. The teenager knows the way to the rink and he's more than happy to do his morning training without a babysitter, so Viktor can’t bother waiting for him to get ready.

Ice Castle looks empty from the outside, but when Viktor pushes the entrance open, the door gives in without difficulty. Yuuri’s on the ice, alright, earbuds in and chord hidden under his t-shirt, twirling to pick up speed and lounging himself into a flying sit spin through a death drop.

This isn’t On Love: Eros. It’s… Stammi Vicino.

Viktor’s legs are rooted in the linoleum floor and he wouldn’t be able to move even if his life depended on it. Yuuri holds his arm up with such grace, straightens his knees with such grace, stands up and exits the spin with such grace that is exactly what this piece deserves. It’s the first time he sees Yuuri skate like this in person… He’s watched him practice On Love: Eros, but he looks like a soulless ragdoll performing it compared to the emotional devotion he’s showing right now.

Quadruple Salchow… Yuuri takes off, pushing his weight into the air, but the jump's off. He doesn’t muster enough power because the perfect form he held until now is gone and his knees bend incorrectly, and although he manages to rotate four times in the air, he doesn’t go high enough. He lands too deep and momentum carries him too fast, and his balance is off just enough that his knee collapses under his weight.

Yuuri pushes himself up and abandons the earbuds, Stammi Vicino seemingly forgotten. He tries again and falls, tries and falls, again and again and again, making the exact same mistake over and over. Wrong take-off, not enough height, falls, wrong take-off, wrong take-off, not enough height, not enough height, falls, falls, falls, falls. Tries and falls, again, again, again, until he’s a panting mess on his stomach, his cheek pressing into the ice, torso rising like he ran the marathon, his fist hitting the ice just once – a single outlet of frustration.

And Viktor’s still rooted on the spot, shock after shock piling up in his mind, because god, Yuuri’s bruising himself so badly it’ll be a wonder if he can get off the ice without assistance, but also no human being Viktor’s met before attempted to do twenty jumps in one breath. What kind of stamina does this man possess?

Yuuri flips onto his back but doesn't make an effort to get up yet. He's soaking up the sweat from his forehead with his long-sleeved shirt, then spreads his arms out.

Then he turns his head in Viktor’s direction and squints his eyes, recognition settling in slowly.

“Viktor…” He says. He sits up and scrambles into a crouching position before standing up. His legs are shaking from the exertion he forced upon them.

Caught, Viktor pulls the guards off his blades and joins Yuuri where he’s waiting, with a face that looks so defeated as if he lost a war, not flopped a jump. There's nothing wrong with his technic—it works for Viktor wonderfully—it's just not optimized for his body.

“Do you know why your Quad Salchow doesn’t work?” He asks, ignoring the fact that Yuuri doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Because… I don’t have confidence…”

“Apart from the lack of confidence.”

“Because…” Yuuri says but doesn’t finish the sentence this time.

“Didn’t Celestino Cialdini teach you anything?”

Yuuri stares at Viktor in shock for a second, but Viktor knows he’s right even if he comes off harsh – he just can’t stop being upset about it. With the fervent intensity Yuuri’s practicing with, it’s a miracle he hasn’t ruined his landing leg yet. Cialdini might have been a champion once upon a time, but he certainly didn’t know enough or care enough to correct Yuuri’s faulty executions.

Yuuri’s suspiciously silent.

“What I think,” Viktor continues, making sure his voice is kinder than before. He isn’t scolding Yuuri after all, and Viktor is flattered under the surface if he thinks about where Yuuri’s knowledge is coming from. “You tried to teach yourself watching—” He looks at Yuuri expectantly, but there’s still no answer. "Minako told me,” he adds when Yuuri stays tight-lipped.

“You.” There. There we go. Yuuri looks bewildered admitting it, but Viktor just smiles at him.

“Exactly.”

Yuuri gulps, looking anywhere but at Viktor even more pointedly now.

“So it’s time I finally taught you how to do it correctly, yeah?”

Viktor lives for the little blushes blooming on his skater’s face, but he wishes Yuuri would meet him on this one-sided conversation.

“Look at me,” he says and Yuuri instantly obeys. “Your body is only yours.” Viktor gestures at him. “And nobody has a body exactly like mine either. So if our bodies aren't the same, why would the exact copy of my jump, even if it's a perfect copy, Yuuri, work for you?"

He got Yuuri’s attention, right. “I can land it sometimes,” Yuuri says suddenly with a shadow of a stubborn glint in his eyes. “I just need more confidence.”

“Sometimes,” Viktor repeats him to make a point. He saw those times on years old records. “But that’s not our aim, is it. Always is our aim. Confidence is also very important, but I wonder, how can you be confident in something your body can hardly do?”

 "Will you teach me how to do it correctly now?" Yuuri asks.

“Tomorrow,” Viktor says. “I don’t want to see you try another jump at all today. This isn’t negotiable. No more jumps today, Yuuri. And if you're too sleepy or too exhausted or hurt yourself too badly with this reckless practice, get off the ice immediately."

“But the competition—”

“We’ll practice after the competition,” Viktor promises. He didn’t know Yuuri could be this stubborn.

“Not if Yurio wins, and he wins if I can’t land the Quad Salchow!”

“ _What?_ ” Yurio’s sharp voice joins them from the side of the rink. “Why are you talking about me?!”

Yuuri skates away before Viktor has time to react. It’s probably better this way; he can’t decide whether to curse because Yurio has the worst timing or because Yuuri’s the densest human being in the entire Universe.

"Yuuri, if I see another jump from you today, you're banned from the ice," he reminds him. He doubts he'd be able to launch himself into another jump after his bruises materialize, but he still warns him. Just in case.

Viktor’s exhausted by the end of the day, even though he’s the one who skates the least. Sometime during the day—Viktor can’t exactly pinpoint when—Yuuri pushes himself into a strange sort of zone where he’s wearing this melancholic, emotionless mask, repeating his routine from muscle memory but with his heart and mind on a different planet altogether. Yurio, his polar opposite as always, is all raw emotion, just not the right kind: he skates like a bloodthirsty tiger, which intimidates Yuuri to the point where he removes himself from the rink and opts for a jog with Takeshi ‘to clear his head’.

* * *

 

If, at one point, Viktor dares to hope that the next day will be easier, he throws the hope out the window when Yurio's mindset doesn’t shift and when "Try to imagine entangling more of the egg with the rice!" loses even that tiny bit of charm Viktor managed to hold onto till now.

He ends up whining to Yuuko because they literally have only tomorrow left to practice before the skate-off. She insists that meditation isn't a bad idea at all, but for some people, the waterfall works better than the exercises in the temple. Some people, she says, need something physical to guide them, something powerful and constant that helps them focus their thoughts.

What’s there to lose, really? If nothing else, at least the guys get some opportunity to bond; maybe even learn from each other. They both could do with some of the other's personality traits if Viktor wants to be completely honest, so he orders them to get back to the temple and follow the instructions of the zen teacher. He doesn’t go with them, no, they don’t need his coachly supervision for that.

He really wants to get out of here for a while. He normally likes a well-established routine in his life, but sometimes even Viktor Nikiforov needs an evening off. It’s Friday so there’s got to be some sort of nightlife happening in Hasetsu… Preferably with a bit of liquor involved.

He could go to Minako's place, he figures, but on a second thought maybe not. He wants the real Japanese experience so he chooses the town center instead, close to the coastline. Sometimes a man needs more than a cup of Hiroko's—albeit delicious—green tea.

The ramen is tasty and goes well with the warm sake, and he gets free refills when the chef—Sakamoto-san—realizes he’s indeed Katsuki Yuuri’s Russian coach. His Japanese is still quite negligible, but the man looks positively thrilled by every answer Viktor utters correctly.

The chef sweet-talks him into showing what Russian sounds like, and Viktor starts talking. It’s just random things at first, quotes from his favorite books and such, but one too many little cups of sake later he realizes that nobody actually has a clue of what he’s gibbering about, so he starts really talking… complaining really, something he hasn’t had the opportunity to do in quite some time, apart from that frustrated moment earlier with Yuuko.

He loses the sense of time at one point, so he doesn’t know how long he’s there pouring his heart out about absolutely everything that’s been bothering him lately: Yuuri, Russia, Yakov, Yurio, and at one point even Andrei Nikiforov makes an appearance.

The street is nearly empty around him when he takes a breath finally… Is it that late already? Sakamoto-san is asking him something. Viktor doesn’t get it so he asks again, then asks something else.

No, no, no, Viktor’s okay, don’t worry. Totally handling the level of alcohol in his blood, thank you very much.

He stands on unsteady legs and bows to the Master of Ramen, promises to come back soon. He has a general idea where Yu-Topia is, but probably he should call Yuuri. Just in case. He fiddles with his phone, finds the ‘Y’ in his contact list, and hits Yakov’s name before he can think it through.

Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring…

Viktor sighs and looks at the too bright screen of his phone. Hits call again and puts one leg in front of the other as he follows the road back where he came from hours ago.

Still, nobody picks up.

Viktor tries again.

Yakov doesn’t pick the phone up, but he doesn’t turn it off either, so what then? He can just block Viktor if he doesn’t want to hear from him.

He calls again and again and again, less faithful every time.

He’s like a dozen streets closer to Yu-Topia when he finally gives up, and the last time his coach's voicemail greets him, he leaves a brief message: "Yura's well." He wants to say so many words so fast that his tongue and lips can't deal with them. "He's going home soon. Yakov, he'll need Lilia. His choreography is perfect, but he needs Lilia. You'll see. So much potential, Yakov! Call me."

He doesn’t say goodbye and he switches his phone off straight after cutting the line, to prevent himself from making any more embarrassing calls.

Concentrate on the pebbled stones, Viktor.

He wants to turn back around, get an entire bottle of sake from Sakamoto-san at Nagahama Ramen and drink it all.

He keeps walking forward, back on the familiar road to Yu-Topia.

Maybe Viktor can stand under the waterfall tomorrow until his heart freezes along with his bones.

Shush, don’t think. No thinking. No thinking.

* * *

 

His room is suspiciously bright when he wakes up the next morning, so he digs his face deeper into Makkachin’s back to block out the intrusive sunlight.

He overslept. He switched his phone off yesterday and neither Yuuri nor Yurio thought appropriate to wake their coach up in time for practice.

Hiroko's hawkeyes catch him before he has a chance to slip outside with his backpack in one hand and his sunglasses in the other.

“Vicchan!” She calls after him, bright as sunshine as always, and Viktor can feel her warmth scorching his skin.

He checked himself in the mirror after he dressed and he knows he looks exactly like a guy who got wasted last night.

“Breakfast?”

“Thank you, Hiroko-san, but I’m not hungry.” He says politely, his voice almost normal. He downed three glasses of water earlier and that felt enough.

“Nonsense,” she answers with a knowing smile. “I know what you need! Banana!”

She grabs a bunch of them from the kitchen and folds Viktor's fingers around them that are also holding his sunglasses. He can't say she isn't right… There're only a few things better than a good banana smoothie and something extremely greasy for breakfast, but Viktor isn't even sure anyone in Japan knows what greasy translates to in Russian cuisine.

“Thank you.” She makes him smile and that’s more than what Viktor thought he was capable of this morning.

By the time he cycles his way to Ice Castle, he manages to put all negative feelings and thoughts where they belong: the back of his head. He doesn't allow himself to pay attention to anything else than his skaters today; all that energy, effort, determination, and devotion they paid into this week's intense training will be paying off tomorrow, and Viktor's duty is to make sure they'll be at their best.

Yurio is doing great, and Viktor admits that sending him under the waterfall might have been a good idea after all.

Yuuri though… Yuuri's still in that strange zone he adopted yesterday, the one that repels everyone who tries to get closer than a meter to him.

Unlike Yurio, he didn't manage to improve at all.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took liberty with Yuuri's past like I did with Viktor's, because canon info on it is almost non-existent. No one ever mentioned that he had a coach before Celestino, only that he was dancing with Minako and practicing with Yuuko, so I fit that into the storyline. That makes Yuuri a genius (and I don't care what Minako says, I do stand with this even if she canonically says he isn't...).
> 
> It was a more cheerful chapter than the previous one, wasn't it? :D I hope you liked it. If you did, please let me know in a comment or by giving me kudos. I appreciate every single one of them, you don't even know how much they motivate me to write more.
> 
> See you soon in chapter 5!


	5. ...sparkles.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monsters are lining up in front of Viktor's door as the day of Onsen On Ice dawns; some of them are first timers, others are old acquaintances, but all of them want the same thing from his Viktor... his sanity, it feels like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist:  
>  Taku Matsushiba: In Regards Of Love: Agape  
>  Taku Matsushiba: In Regards Of Love: Eros  
>  Chopin: Raindrop

A skater’s costume has to, at all times, be worn like a second skin; Viktor doesn’t even remember who he heard this from originally, but it stayed with him for the most relevant part of his career. When he was small, he just used to be attracted to shiny, sparkly things, but as he got older and developed a taste and thus a style on his own, costumes became just as vital part of his themes as the music he chose and later commissioned and the choreographies he laid out.

Judges don’t score based on the amount of flitter on his outfit, true, and some skaters couldn’t care less if they were rolled into rugs, but no one will convince Viktor that the confidence he builds by visually becoming the character he’s playing doesn’t push him closer to the gold. As the consecutive winner of every championship you can name, he likes to think he has a point.

That's why he's standing so content in the door of his room, suitcases filled with his costumes that were successfully delivered from St Petersburg (thank you, awesome elderly janitor’s wife who is about the only person Viktor trusts with a key to his apartment), observing Yuuri and Yurio work their way through them one by one.

Every costume is another personality that Viktor will never be able to completely shrug off. Every costume added something to the person he grew to become today, and he’s proud watching two excellent skaters appreciate them in a way he can’t anymore.

Especially Yuuri, who seems to remember each and every one of them by year. Yurio is just looking for something flashy that will make him look cool enough, but Yuuri is methodically threading, going from one pile to the next, so into the task that for the moment he forgets to pretend he isn’t the rabid Viktor Nikiforov fan that everyone says he is.

The one he seems to like the most is that black piece from Viktor’s last year in the junior circuit, the one that helped him win the junior Worlds and granted him a spot in the senior division. The first one he designed with the intention to shock his audience. More than his audience, actually.

"I had long hair at the time, so my costume suggested both male and female genders at once," he explains helpfully. Well, it did without his long hair anyway, but he won't deny its length was a handy accessory at the time.

Viktor wouldn't be able to remember which one’s his happiest memory, but skating to the middle of the rink in this scandalous, skin-tight piece with the semi-transparent mesh details, ridiculously huge rhinestones, and the half-skirt with the scarlet inner part is definitely a contender. This costume meant so much more than his audience imagined; he was brave for the first time, and he was a rebel, and he stood up for what he was and rubbed the victory he earned despite his _inappropriate ways_ in Andrei Nikiforov’s face.

Such irony that from all the costumes present, Yuuri’s set on this particular piece to match his eros.

Maybe Viktor will share its story with him one day.

Yurio chooses well as well; to be honest, Viktor is half-convinced that the teenager goes with that particular outfit because it manages to be even flashier than Yuuri’s with the sea of tiny crystal beads hand-sewn over the white mesh, but he’ll still look deceptively like an angel in complete white and with the feather-like details. It will definitely help him portray the agape they're aiming for.

Hiroko is readily waiting for them with her tape measure and pins in the family room. She isn’t a tailor, obviously, but nursing two kids she learned how to maintain torn and outgrown clothes. Viktor’s old costumes aren’t perfect fits on his skaters, and she offered to adjust them. Viktor trusts her, so he watches his skaters line up in front of her.

He focuses on Yurio because the last thing he needs right now (or ever...) is the sight that is Yuuri in the black net pulling across his torso and showing a lot more skin and contoured muscles than Viktor's seen outside the baths. Ostrich policy at its very best, he's aware of it, thank you very much.

He doesn't need to keep himself distracted for a long time because Yuuri has plans for the rest of the night, it seems. As soon as he’s done with the costume fitting, he’s back in training gear with his backpack thrown over his shoulder, ready to slip out of the house while everyone’s too occupied to notice. Everyone but his coach.

He considers warning him to watch the time—he needs a good sleep to be in perfect shape tomorrow—but the persistent determination sitting on his face almost prevents him from doing so. Viktor’s familiar with a face just like his; he knows from first-hand experience that inspiration shouldn’t be sniffed out, especially not when it’s been such a scarcity this week.

Yuuri promises it won't take long, but Viktor's also familiar with promises like that… 'Won't take long' usually means 'you'll find me sleeping on a bench at the rink' according to his dictionary.

Viktor returns to his room and tidies up the mess his skaters left behind in the rush of excitement. He’ll just chuck all the suitcases in the storage room when Yurio doesn't live in it anymore, but he'll need to find space for them in his own room until then.

It’s a distracting job; it’s been years since he last spent time even looking at these costumes. They take up a full corner in his walk-in wardrobe back home, but it's like they are part of the furniture. They could be gone, stolen or something, and Viktor wouldn't even realize.

Isn't it a strange feeling when some things mean the world to you but at the same time they mean absolutely nothing?

Yurio joins him in the room, flopping down on one of the sofas, pulling his legs up and spreading them like he was at his grandfather's place, so his heels rest on the edge of the cushions. He’s uncharacteristically quiet, watching Viktor matching tops with bottoms and zipping them up in the garment bags for a minute before reserving to his phone, starting a furious text-exchange.

Viktor lines up the suitcases on the left-hand side of the bed when he's done so they don't block Yurio’s way to his own tiny room. He straightens up then, ready to go and check how Hiroko is doing a floor below. He owes her a huge favor, after all, and the least he can do is offer moral support.

He finds her on the first floor, still in the room that Viktor only uses to dine in in the mornings, kneeling in front of a portable sewing machine and occupied with Yuuri’s choice of costume.

“Vicchan!" She exclaims when she notices him hovering in the doorway and pats the space next to her on the floor, a silent confirmation that he’s welcome to join her.

"Thank you for the help,” Viktor says quietly as he kneels on a pillow obediently. He’ll need to find a way to make up for the time she spends on this.

"Skater have to look good, right?” She replies with that sweet smile of hers and continues expertly turning Yuuri’s costume this way and that under the mechanical needles, stitching faster than what human eyes can follow.

“Right,” Viktor answers.

There isn't a lot of alternation to be made, luckily, because the pieces are quite elastic and stretch easily where Yuuri and Yurio are wider than Viktor used to be. It’s just the loose parts that need adjustment, especially on the black one, because it turns out Yuuri’s hips are slightly wider and his waist narrower than Viktor’s at sixteen. They're lucky that they're at least more or less the same height, Yuuri now and Viktor back then. They'd have a lot more to worry about otherwise.

“It is first time for Yuuri in costume like this," Hiroko says when she's done sewing, holding the piece out in front of her at arm’s length to observe the changes.

“Costume like this?” Viktor asks, slightly confused.

Hiroko takes a moment to think, looking for the correct words to say.

“Yuuri’s costumes are traditional," she settles on saying in the end. "Not like this." She adds, pinching the transparent mesh.

“Ah.”

“I like it.” Hiroko nods her approval and Viktor can’t help his surprised blink. Parents aren’t supposed to approve such blatantly sexy clothing, especially when deliberately worn in public. That’s exactly the reason why Viktor had it made in the first place. “It is good,” Hiroko adds then, further establishing Viktor’s surprise.

"Is it?" He asks, still not getting over that this woman is completely okay with the fact that basically half of Yuuri’s body will be covered in fabric that’s meant to be sexy.

“Traditional is safe. But this is confidence." She's shaking the costume like it's some sort of flag.

She understands. Viktor wants to hug her.

* * *

 

Not being an active part of the competition manifests in a strange kind of out of place feeling that Viktor doesn’t know how to cope with. What would Yakov do, gathering at the entrance of Yu-topia without his usual Olympic team jacket and his costume underneath? What _did he do_ after he retired and became a coach? Yakov isn’t by his side, reprimanding him for not going through his program a couple more times in his head on the way to the rink; it’s now his job to remind _his_ skaters to do just that.

Yurio scowls at his suggestion and pulls his large headphones over his ears, which hopefully means he’s listening to his program music, not the current hits on Spotify. Yuuri doesn’t join them; he retreats into a corner instead, his back way too stiff to promise anything good. Clearly, Yuuri needs him more than Yurio does, but before Viktor can ask him what’s wrong, Minako is already by his side, starting a one-sided conversation where she’s talking and Yuuri’s just quietly nodding to everything she says.

Yakov would join them, wouldn’t just stand here trying to figure out how to be a good, supporting coach, and yell some sense into Yuuri. Viktor isn’t entirely sure that would work on him though… or that Viktor's capable of yelling.

“Are we ready?” He asks in the end. “Let’s go then!”

Both of his skaters push past him and Viktor locks eyes with Minako for a moment. The look she gives him somehow assures him that it’s okay to be inexperienced in this, it’s okay to ask for advice, even if it isn’t from Yakov. It’s okay if his coaching experience is scarce, because how else would he gain it if not by the mistakes he makes.

Viktor’s got questions, but he doesn’t know how to ask yet, so he doesn’t say anything in the end except, “See you in Ice Castle!”

The entire Katsuki household is coming to watch Yuuri skate because it's so rare he is somewhere close enough to them, but they’ll be joining them at the rink later – the lunch rush in the restaurant isn’t over yet, and the main event is scheduled for later in the afternoon anyway. They say it’s alright to close the baths for a few hours when the patrons are gone; it isn’t like there’ll be a soul in town who won't be at the rink after all. 

The show has already started, Victor decides as he walks the steps to Ice Castle’s entrance behind his skaters. Neither of them mastered the essence of their programs yet, so what Viktor wants to see is some effort proving that they’re at least trying.

Regardless of how the show ends, he already established that he's staying in Hasetsu, but he'll make an effort to compensate Yurio if he happens to win. Viktor's a bad role model: even if a role model favors one fan over another, a good person doesn't make a show of it. The situation the three of them are in comes with an extra twist as well: he isn't only Yuuri’s role model, he’s Yurio’s too.

But the sooner the boy understands that the senior division is far crueler than he thinks, and that his whimsical, delusional, selfish claims and demands are just that – a boy’s whimsical, delusional, selfish claims and demands that can’t and won’t always be tolerated, the easier it will be to settle in the new, far more competitive and ruthless environment. The contenders now may think he's a cute little kitten—since he'll be by far the youngest in the group—but when he grows to become an arrogant adult, their tolerance will slim down.

He shifts his eyes from Yurio to Yuuri. If only the latter had a selfish cell in his body… He's the Russian youngster's polar opposite: it's pretty clear what he wants, but he hides it behind vague expressions and uses flower language. It’s almost comical how Yuuri would be able to effortlessly skate the theme of innocent agape and how Yurio is the epitome of the selfishness Viktor’s looking for in eros.

The Russian doesn’t really want Viktor as his coach, oh no, Viktor’s known the kid long enough to know better; what this is is the prime example of a child starting a fight because some other boy took his favorite toy. If he really wanted Viktor as his coach, he would have cooperated throughout the week, would have proven Viktor that he was taking him seriously. Whatever his issue is with Yuuri, he isn’t going to solve it by aggressively ‘winning’ Viktor as a prize. Yuuri, on the other hand, has been drinking the advice Viktor offered like a thirsty gazelle during the driest savannah summer, always searching for new ways to grasp the meaning of the theme that he's assigned.

Viktor focuses back on Yurio, who, even during their warm-up backstage is sending prickly, hostile stares at Yuuri. Wherever his mind is today, it’s far  from the agape that they accomplished yesterday. His attitude has been causing problems for years, and that's exactly why Viktor wants him to learn some demure while he's exploring his agape. That temper would even be fine if he was putting some effort into fighting it because he's just a boy searching for his place in this mess of a world, but the problems start when he can't shrug off his negativity with his street clothes before he puts on his costume.

Yuuri is a whole other matter that needs more exploration than Viktor can even start to understand – because as far as he can tell, Yuuri has never been required to be anything but the person he knew he was. And that… Viktor doesn’t know what that is like, all he knows is that for some reason right now, Yuuri’s simultaneously trying to be true to himself and trying to be _anything but himself_.

Back when he was obsessed watching Yuuri’s programs online, he fell for the simple, truthful, honest, and emotional style he's skating with. His On Love: Eros, as it is right now, shows none of that essence that charmed Viktor and the rest of the world. And there's certainly just as much blame falling on Viktor as on Yuuri, and most of it would be avoidable if they were able to talk about it without the skater clamming up. There’s just so long they can beat around the bush.

Viktor’s pleasantly surprised and very much relieved that the event gets moderate press coverage. He half expected the Russian hyenas to make another appearance, but apart from the most stubborn ones, it’s mostly just the local papers and TV channels. The Japanese ones are respectful to Yuuri; it’s so easy to tell that his humbleness got everybody wrapped around his fingers ages ago and it reminds Viktor what it’s like to speak to them nicely.

Most importantly, they leave them alone when Yurio is due on the ice and Viktor follows him through the dark blue curtain separating their tiny waiting area from the rinkside.

“I’m with you, Yura,” he tells him, and for the first time, he suddenly finds his place as a coach when the youngster pushes his jacket and his skate guard in his hands. “I can’t put you under a waterfall right now, but imagine you’re skating under one,” he says as the guy steps on the ice and turns back to Viktor one last time. “You’ll be fine then,” he says and Yurio nods. Then he glides to the middle of the rink and stops in the center with his eyes closed and head held down, readily waiting for the music.

The start is good, it looks like he took Viktor’s advice for once; he’s as good as he was the day before. Viktor almost smiles in relief when his focus stretches for nearly a minute, but then something shifts while Yurio’s preparing for his Quad Salchow-Triple Toe Loop combo and he flutters across the ice like a bewildered chickadee. The rest of the routine is a mess of impatient footwork, a frigid jump, and aggressive spins, moving just a heartbeat faster than the music he's skating to.

It’s nothing like what Viktor hasn’t seen from him before. Yurio, if Viktor wants to be completely honest, knows a lot more advanced technical elements than Viktor used to at his age, but whatever points he gains pushing through them, he’s losing them on his interpretations – or the lack of them, really. His temper is his weakest spot, and if Yakov wasn’t able to tame him in five years, Viktor would hardly be able in such a short period of time.

In the end, all that really matters is that he failed convincing Viktor of his agape.

But still, one thing he can’t deny is that his skill set is amazing and he made the fewest mistakes today… "Yurio! This was the best performance I’ve seen from you so far!” It still isn’t good enough on an emotional level, but that beginning saved it from turning into an absolute disaster.

There's no time to lament on this any longer though… Viktor's duties aren't over yet. Yurio’s shrugging his jacket on and Yuuri should be up in a minute, but he’s… Viktor’s looking around, searching for him… There he is!

Oh.

Is he alright?

Sick?

That Yuuri’s actually in somewhat a panicky state doesn’t register until Viktor stands right in front of him and takes a better look at the horrified face hidden in the shadows.

“Yuuri,” he says as gently as he can. A gentle voice is calming, right? It works with Makkachin on the rare occasions something bewilders him. “It’s your turn.”

The skater looks like he’d rather run away and never look back than to try and outdo Yurio. He looks at Viktor like it's the first time he sees him, his eyes a tad too shiny and his skin sweaty even though he hasn't done excessive warming up, and he's pressing his hands over his mouth as if he’s scared he might vomit.

He’s trying to answer, and Viktor waits for him patiently, like he waits for Makkachin to feel brave enough to crawl out from under the bed. He's stuttering through a few words until he's able to say, in a shaky voice, "I'm going to become a super tasty katsudon so please watch me!”

Viktor does not expect the hug that comes next, the trembling arms around his shoulders drawing in, almost crushing his bones. Sure, it’s not the first time they do this, but it’s never been something Yuuri initiated. And here they are now, Yuuri somehow still convinced that in the next three minutes he’s going to lose Viktor. It’s insanely inappropriate, but Viktor almost smiles; so Yuuri can be selfish if he wants to.

Show me how selfish your love is, Yuuri.

“Of course,” Viktor answers gently, so close to Yuuri’s ear that nobody else can hear what he’s saying. He doesn’t hug him back, doesn’t disturb the piece the skater’s chasing, but goes along with the metaphor and does his best to answer the exclamation in a way that’s impossible to misinterpret, even for someone as unassumingly unobservant as Yuuri. “I love katsudon.”

Yuuri’s arms tighten around Viktor and he releases a shaky puff of air before he lets go. His face still looks bewildered, but there's something more to the expression sitting there now: a certain kind of poise that's hard to place. They don't share any more words, Yuuri just hands Viktor his jacket and blade guards. The single beam of light follows him to the middle of the ice.

Viktor knows something’s off even before the music starts. Something about the way he carries his body, the way he holds his posture is different from anything Viktor’s seen from him before. Then the music starts, and his arms lift, and the realization hits Viktor like a truck on the highway: Yuuri’s confident! Yuuri knows what he’s doing, and he’s proving it when he looks Viktor straight in the eyes and displays the flirty smile Viktor's been trying to pull out of him this entire week.

Yuuri doesn’t stop there though. He alters the choreography at his will, keeping it more or less the same but tweaking the movements of his arms and torso: a masculine choreography bent around the edges, sturdy but refined, redesigned to fit a softer, feminine character.

It’s nothing like what Viktor imagined coming from Yuuri, but suddenly it’s everything he wants to see. It’s a diamond in the rough, _he is a diamond in the rough_ , but a diamond that will be blinding if polished right!

And it isn’t just Viktor, no, Yuuri’s got the entire audience at his feet. They’re screaming like Ice Castle was an Olympic stadium, even after his Triple Axel becomes the sloppiest Viktor’s seen. They don't care, and why would they, if everything else the see is keeping them enthralled?

How did this happen? It had to happen during the last minute practice last night... Was it with Minako at the studio? Or alone here in the rink? Viktor wants to know all the details. But for now...

What is a good way to let Yuuri know he noticed the changes and approves them?

He pulls Yuuri into an enthusiastic hug when he reaches the exit. His body is stiff but not unwelcoming, so Viktor squeezes him and makes sure he knows he looks like the tastiest katsudon Viktor could dream of. His critique isn't taken as positively as his compliment, but as his coach, it's also his responsibility to point out the lesser good parts of his performance.

Yurio is nowhere to be seen so Viktor sends him a message. He needs to announce the winner and they need to take the podium that the rink staff is setting up. Turns out, the blond skater didn’t even stay until the end of Yuuri’s performance, but they don’t learn it from Yurio’s answer because that never comes… Yuuko saw him leave in the middle of Yuuri’s performance though.

There’s no time to dwell on it, because Takeshi and Mooroka, the latter the local sports newscaster, are literally pushing them towards the podium as soon as it’s ready to receive them. There’s a bouquet of flowers waiting for Yuuri and the cutest award Viktor’s ever seen, a little Ice Castle Hasetsu trophy sculpted into the shape of cartoonish ninjas. Clearly meant for the local kiddy competitions and reused today as nothing else was available.

Morooka has his questions ready as soon as Yuuri has a firm grasp around the trophy. Being in the spotlight is clearly making him fidgety and Viktor’s arm slips around Yuuri’s back one more time before he realizes he’s doing it. He stiffens just for a second before his body relaxes. He's smiling and Viktor squeezes his elbow reassuringly with the hand that isn’t holding Yuuri yet.

I know you dislike reporters, but you said before you could do this, Viktor thinks because he can't say it directly to Yuuri.

He’s smiling too. He tells himself it’s more because of how proud he is of the accomplishment Yuuri made rather than the fact that Yuuri has zero problems with Viktor being physically so close – something that used to freak him out.

And then Yuuri exclaims that he’s going to try and win the Grand Prix with Viktor, and Viktor’s heart flutters.

* * *

 

Yuuri’s on the edge; he wants to leave as soon as the eyes of the press turn away from them, but it’s a dream far out of their reach as they exit the rinkside and face most of the audience queuing for autographs. They want Viktor’s just as much as they want Yuuri’s and they slowly make their way down the line of people stretching from the glass swing doors to the main entrance of the building.

It’s an unexpected surprise: nobody ever stops them on the streets, but half the town seems to be suddenly very eager to get their hands on some photographs and signed merchandise – mostly Yuuri’s classic poster with the cherry blossoms and the castle in the background. It shouldn’t be that surprising, Yuuri explains to him later, not in Hasetsu anyway. He knows from experience it isn’t quite like this in Detroit, but if you think about it, isn’t it considered rude when someone disturbs your daily routine for something that would cause you inconvenience?

Nobody cares about causing inconvenience in St Petersburg either, Viktor thinks, but then realizes that this might be exactly why he likes Hasetsu so much: people are naturally polite and respectful around here, and generally just leave him alone, let him live his life. In the end, he’s too shocked by his own realization to say anything. It takes them an hour to get to the end of the queue and by that time all of the Nishigoris, Yuuri’s parents, Mari, and Minako are ready to bring the celebration home.

Yurio must have figured out the results by watching Yuuri’s skate; he’s stubborn and selfish, but also smart. Viktor calls the sulking youngster who greets him with the usual vehement demeanor.

“I need your help.”

“Oh?”

They’re in the changing room and Yuuri’s in the process of peeling his costume off to have a quick shower before rejoining the rest of the world, and Viktor tucks the phone between his ear and his shoulder and takes the garment from him. Hiroko is right there trying to help, but Viktor shakes his head with a smile. He’s the coach. This is his job.

“I was trying to buy the plane tickets, but nobody would sell them to me. I’m underage, blah blah blah... I'm sixteen, dammit, not a child!"

Viktor barely manages to hold his snort back.

"I'll sort it out," he says in the end because of course, he will. "But just out of curiosity, how did you get here again? Not with Yakov’s help surely…” He meant to ask this as soon as Yurio arrived, had he not asked him after all? He can't remember.

“I got mom to buy them.”

Viktor doesn’t want to know how that happened. He never met the woman, but from what he remembers from Yakov’s rants, she isn’t in for the most responsible mother award.

“I’ll sort it out.”

“It’s your fault I’m here anyway.”

“Are you at Yu-Topia? Stay there. We’ll be back soon.”

Yuuri’s really as quick in the shower as he promised. He’s wearing a fresh set of clothes and it has to be the first time Viktor sees him in anything but Mizuno sweatpants and tops. He isn’t staring at the collarbones peeking out from under the dark blue V-neck shirt and definitely not appreciating the well-fitting jeans either.

“Now we celebrate!” Hiroko exclaims, an arm curling around Yuuri’s elbow and the other one around Viktor’s.

Yuuri laughs, a tinkling little sound that Viktor’s never heard from him before but a sound he’d commission into a full song to skate to.

By the time they get home, the sun’s painting the sky a beautiful gradient of blue, yellow, and orange. The house is deserted downstairs, but the noise they make attracts both Makkachin and Yurio, the latter carrying his laptop under an arm.

Tables are being pulled together in the restaurant to make enough space for everyone to sit around comfortably. Toshiya and Minako are bringing drinks, bottles or beer and some other stuff Viktor’s can’t recognize, and a glass of amber liquor is pushed in front of him. The teenager kneeling next to him, as well as the triplets, get cans of melon soda.

“I don’t want to celebrate,” Yurio grumbles while everyone else lifts their glasses for a toast. “I lost.”

Viktor nudges him and holds his can up with his free hand for him. “Kanpai!” He shouts with the rest of the group, and he knows it means something along the lines of cheers.

“And the worst part is, he beat me fair and square." Viktor lets him finish the rant, then helps him analyze his performance, points out the good parts and explains where it went bad. Meditation did work for Yurio in a way, but he needs more than that to tame his rebellious mind; he needs discipline, and Viktor knows just the perfect person to teach him that. He’ll need Yakov’s cooperation for that though, and he isn't sure how he'll get that yet.

"Let's buy the tickets." Yurio sighs when he has nothing else left to say.

He’s pushing his laptop in front of Viktor along with what looks like one of those prepaid cards Yakov gets for all of his underage skaters around Yurio’s age, but Yurio actually got it as soon as he moved to St Petersburg at the age of ten because it’s also the only way his mother can safely send him money from where she’s living in Moscow.

Viktor’s Aeroflot platinum club card will get them so much further than Yurio’s card. The teenager whistles when he sees it and takes it from Viktor for better inspection. Well. The time he doesn’t spend skating he spends flying, so he figures it's worth having it. Comfort is important.

“I guess I deserve it,” the youngster says with an approving nod.

Yeah, he does. Viktor won’t let the kid pay for the tickets, and the club card will guarantee a discount on the price as well as premium class, so he won't have to suffer in some cramped, uncomfortable seat on economy, eating atrociously bad meals. It will be a horribly long travel, but a definite upgrade to what Yurio’s used to traveling with Yakov. The boy chokes on his soda when he sees the final price and that validates the motivation behind Viktor’s generosity.

“Thank you…” He mumbles so softly Viktor almost doesn't catch it.

“If you need any help in the future, give me a call, alright?" Viktor says instead of acknowledgment because he knows him being polite isn't normal behavior. “I’m not your coach, but that doesn’t mean I’m not your friend either.”

Yurio huffs, but the usual edge is missing from his reaction.

Viktor looks Yuuri’s way, the guy balancing a bottle of beer between his knees while sitting next to Yuuko and Takeshi, and having fun like Viktor hasn’t seen him having since that night at the banquet. He looks genuinely happy and Viktor realizes with a pang that this is the first time he catches him smiling so brightly.

“I’m not angry,” the teenager pulls him back to earth from where he’s trapped by that smile. “But I don’t get it. Why him? If you want to coach, we have better skaters in Russia.”

Oh, Yurio… He still doesn’t get it.

“Skating is more than just landing a jump perfectly, and this mediocre skater, by your standards, beat you today,” he says. “Why do you think that is?”

Yurio huffs again and there's a spicy response eager on the tip of his tongue, but he holds it in - he knows it isn't entirely fair to say it. Viktor won't deny his partiality towards Yuuri, but Yuuri didn’t win because Viktor’s favors fell on him – he won because his performance was convincing while Yurio’s was anything but that.

“Go on, have fun with the guys. I doubt Yakov will let you have any fun for the rest of the year.”

Yurio groans with the knowledge of someone who’s been training under Yakov’s regime for half a decade. He crawls across the floor to say something to Yuuko, leaving Viktor and his laptop isolated from the rest of the group.

When his phone buzzes silently in his pocket, Viktor fishes it out with slight confusion; the people that would call him are gathered together in this room, so—

Oh no.

Onsen on Ice was broadcasted at the local channel of the island of Kyushu, but it wasn't broadcasted nationwide, let alone worldwide, was it?

Nobody seems to realize that Viktor’s world is tilting.

He pockets the phone before it’d attract attention, the persistent buzzing stubborn against his backside, and Viktor excuses himself with the best smile he finds in the pit of his stomach as he darts for the door.

The evening was going so well. They’re celebrating. Andrei Nikiforov shouldn’t hold the power to ruin it.

Viktor settles in the shadows of the unlit flight of stairs leading to the upper floors, with protective walls of both sides hiding him from everyone’s sight unless they walk straight past it.

What’s there that Andrei Nikiforov didn’t tell him the last time he called? There’s always something, his mind is like a bottomless bottle of poison, after all, designed to kill Viktor in a thousand and one ways.

Yakov, what do I do now…?

The phone lays with the screen down next to where he’s crumbling on the stairs, his face in his hands and his shoulder drew in so close they would snap any moment now.

Why don’t you turn it off, Viktor? What are you afraid of?

Not this, please, not this particular corner of his mind. Viktor turns around and runs as fast as he can, but it doesn't matter how far he runs, the cheerful noise coming from the restaurant still sounds like an echo from another dimension, a world Viktor doesn’t hold a key to.

His breath is caught in his lungs even though _he knows he isn’t really running_.

Just breathe. You've been through this before. Just breathe.

“Vicchan?”

Hiroko’s gentle voice is like a bucket of icy water poured over his head deliberately slow, soaking him until a shiver runs up his spine and freezes him in position. Simultaneously, he feels the blood trickle from his face, leaving him strangely weak and lightheaded.

Pull yourself together, Viktor.

Hiroko’s been upstairs and Viktor didn’t realize. He’s blocking her way on the way down, so he presses his side into the wall and lets her ascend, step over the phone that’s still relentlessly buzzing next to him. She sits down a step below him.

“Important?” She asks eyeing the phone, the caller’s ID a mystery to her since Viktor made sure the screen isn’t visible.

Viktor shakes his head. He needs to look at her. Needs to smile so she’ll know nothing’s wrong.

Because really, this is just as normal a day as any in Viktor Nikiforov’s life.

“From Russia?” She asks.

Yes. Viktor nods.

“Want to go with Yurio? To Russia?”

He shakes his head, no.

"No." He presses that one word out with a rasp because he doesn't want to be rude to her. His voice is betraying him, and he wonders if it would have been better to stay quiet after all.

"Want to talk?” She asks then. Not with her. On the phone. She’s nodding at the phone.

“No…”

“Can I?” Victor looks at her for the first time since this conversation started, at her sad, gentle smile. Can she, what? Talk?

Whatever it is she wants, he nods his permission because anything is better than the big fat nothing Viktor’s doing.

She picks the phone up and drops it into the front pocket of her apron, pats it a couple of times and winks at him as if it's a mischief done extremely well. It's still buzzing and will probably continue to do so until the battery drains, but she looks not at all concerned about it. Then she picks up a box she's been apparently carrying, opens it, and pushes it under Viktor's nose.

“Hanabi,” she says.

Hanabi. Viktor turns the word around his head but doesn’t recall the meaning. He peers into the box, the blunt assertiveness she’s using to distract Viktor from this little panicky episode proving successful.

The box is full of long, thin paper packets that look like they’re hiding sparklers as well as colorful little rockets. He reaches for the sparklers before he realizes his hand is moving. His grandmother used to get them for his birthday. Tiny ones, not these oversized ones like what Hiroko keeps around. He doesn't remember the last time he'd seen one.

“Beautiful on the beach,” Hiroko says, her smile as sad as before, but unwavering, and Viktor slowly reciprocates it. “Let’s go.”

She walks the few steps down and gives a moment to Viktor to gather himself.

"Hiroko-san," he says, and his voice is still shakier than what Viktor likes, but stronger than before. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

Especially not Yuuri, who Viktor sees happy for the first time since he arrived a month ago.

She slips into the restaurant and announces her idea for the rest of the group. The triplets are screaming with glee and they're soon at the genkan, putting tiny shoes on with Takeshi's supervision.

Viktor knows it's just a matter of moments before Hiroko comes back looking for him, so he takes a second to arrange his hair and facial expression, takes a deep breath, and joins them. Makkachin’s bounding towards him, ecstatic with all the commotion happening, but as much as Viktor wants him to come, fireworks sound more like a nightmare than actual fun to him.

“Makka, no, Makka,” he says when Makka uses his hind legs to stand tall and put his paws on Viktor’s chest, leaving dirty smudges on his white shirt; he’s so used to it he doesn’t even notice it anymore. “Later, Makka,” he says and pats him on the head, and when the poodle realizes there won’t be a leash attached to his collar, he reluctantly lets his paws fall on the floor.

God, Viktor loves this dog. Makkachin always knows when something's up and whenever it happens he’s practically irremovable from his side.

“Mom says we’ve got loads of firework left from the New Year’s celebrations,” Yuuri says, walking up to him and toying with the poodle's floppy ears, now sitting right on top of Viktor's feet.

“Definitely not playtime for this guy.”

“Yeah…” Yuuri sighs and looks at Makkachin like he wants the dog to join then just as much as Viktor wants. “We used to lock Vicchan into my bedroom every time we sat up fireworks in the garden. He's so scared he'd have run away."

Yuuri’s cheerfully babbling. The bottle of beer he’s had untangled his tongue just comfortably so and Viktor wishes he’s finished his drink too so maybe his mind wouldn’t run in circles around Andrei Ni—

Stop.

He chuckles.

“Makka doesn’t know what fireworks are, but he's scared of thunderstorms and they aren't nearly as loud as rockets."

It takes all of his willpower to focus on the chirpy Yuuri by his side instead of the frightened voice in his head, and somehow it seems to work. They’re soon on the road, a short, ten minutes’ walk down a few streets until they reach the seaside.

Sometimes Viktor sneaks glances at Hiroko, who’s leading the group through the dark streets with Toshiya by her side, and whether Viktor’s phone is still vibrating in the pocket of her apron remains a wonder. Her gentle face doesn’t show signs of discomfort.

“—I know I screwed up the jumps, even though we practiced especially the Salchow, but I think I may have a chance this year,” Yuuri’s says.

“Of course you do,” Viktor replies, averting his eyes from the little woman. “You were fantastic today.”

He really was. Viktor remembers how only a few hours ago he was watching Yuuri perform the best, most unique eros so far, and Viktor remembers being completely blown away, and he almost felt like the seductiveness was directed exclusively at him, wondering how he managed such an impressive improvement. 

Right now, so far ahead of time, it feels like it happened in another lifetime.

 “Maybe I can even beat Christophe Giacometti this year.”

“That’s the kind of motivation I want to hear,” Viktor says, chuckling again.

Yuuri isn't being delusional at all. He has it in him, he can beat Chris.

They reach the beach and the kids are running ahead, shrieking, with Yuuko at their heels.

“Come on, losers!” Yurio shouts as he runs past them. “Race to the water!”

“Don’t go too far away!” She yells at them.

The twins are speeding up, clearly taking up on the challenge, and Yuuri’s grabbing Viktor’s wrist, pulling him into a run too. He’s laughing again and it’s undeniably still the most beautiful sound in the universe.

Viktor is sucked into a whirlwind. He grabs Yuuri’s wrist in return and refuses to let go from that moment on, and it feels like if he wasn’t the one thing that anchored him to the ground, he'd just float away with the gentle breeze. People around them are busy and noisy, collecting driftwood to start a fire, laying out baskets of snacks and drinks and the packets of sparklers, and Yuuri is running with Viktor closely behind him, and his laughter is contagious, and Viktor recognizes his own voice: somehow he’s laughing too.

“Guys, over here!”

The world is spinning when he flops down on the sand between Yuuri and Mari. Someone hands him a bottle of already opened beer and he takes it when Yuuri and Mari do so too. 

Yurio is typing furiously on his phone, the triplets are dancing around the bonfire that Takeshi made, and the adults are in deep conversation about something Viktor can't understand. It’s fine because his eyes are fixed on the flames in the center of the circle they've formed anyway, licking the night with not orange, but with flames as blue as ice. It’s almost the most mesmerizing thing Viktor remembers laying eyes on.

“It’s beautiful, right?” The single most mesmerizing thing says next to him. “It’s blue because of the salt from the sea soaked the wood.”

“Ah,” Viktor hums. Science isn’t his forte and he’s sentimental enough to not care about the scientific explanations of the miraculous things this world offers to him.

“I’m sorry, this must be boring,” Yuuri says then, gesturing at the rest of the group with a hand. He isn’t participating in the conversation either, even though his bottle of beer helps to keep him chatty enough.

“Not at all,” Viktor answers. Well… Maybe a little, but Viktor’s actually glad nobody requires his participation in conversations. He doesn’t mind talking to Yuuri, but there’s one thing he’s reluctant to admit: he doesn’t know how to handle such a large group of people who don’t demand him to be Viktor Nikiforov the skater, even on a normal day. “I’ve never seen a bonfire before.”

“R-Really?”

Viktor shrugs. It's not a big deal, loads of people live their lives without bonfires.

“Well…” Yuuri smiles. “You’ll see loads here. We love bonfires.”

“I can tell,” Viktor answers, looking at the triplets having the time of their lives.

"There're all kinds of festivals in this area throughout the year." Yuuri continues. “They almost always end with a huge bonfire or with fireworks.”

Hiroko is completing a circle with the packets of sparklers in her arms. “More.” she urges Viktor when he pulls a stick out of the box, so he takes another. “Yuu-chan too!”

When that's done too, she moves on to Yuuko, Takeshi, Minako…

“Come.” Yuuri leaves his glasses in Mari’s care, grips Viktor’s wrist again and tugs, tugs Yurio too with his other hand, his large, chestnut eyes almost as bright as the neon colored sparks the triplets are enjoying.

“Cool!” Yurio exclaims watching the girls. He'd probably take photos if Yuuri wasn’t still tugging on his sparkler-free hand.

“Right?!” Yuuri agrees and maneuvers the three of them closer to the fire. "Three… two… one!" He counts back, and they light their sticks, and his excitement is reflecting in Viktor’s smile.

They’re running along the coast and the sparks almost look like a rainbow born in their wake: messy green, blue, golden, and pink lines illuminating the darkness like multi-colored fireflies.

Yurio’s laughing the loudest, and he’s starting to chase Yuuri with his arms extended towards him, messing up the short-lived rainbow and turning it into some sort of abstract line art as they keep running.

“Viktooor!” He shouts from the water where he chased Yuuri all the way down. “He’s a monster!”

Yuuri turned the tables around and now chases the younger one. They seem to be everyone’s temporary amusement and Viktor smiles when Yurio runs a loop around him, trying to hide from a viciously grinning Yuuri behind Viktor’s back, but Viktor is more occupied with the reflection of golden sparks in Yuuri’s eyes than Yurio’s expectation to shield him.

Their sparklers don’t last forever though, and Hiroko offers them fresh ones. The skaters take it but Viktor chooses to rather sit and watch them. With the competition out of the way, they—especially the younger one—project way more friendliness. Hiroko still selects a stick for him that would light up golden, and it’s nostalgic since that’s the only color that used to be available in Russia when he was a child.

“Are you sitting out?” Yuuri asks, just slightly confused as he looks at Viktor.

“Can’t keep up with you young ones." He tries a joke. To his own biggest surprise, it works.

“Take some photos for me?” Yuuri asks when he stops giggling and holds his phone out.

“Sure thing.” Viktor takes it with his free hand and snaps a random picture, Yuuri’s face lit by nothing but his sparkler and painting it a shade of blue. Yuuri touches the tip of it to Viktor's as pay-back and lights it up, grins when Viktor jumps a little, muscle reflex to protect his shirt from burning.

He takes a few more shots after Yuuri joins Yurio and the triplets again, then pulls his knees up and wraps an arm around them, observing.

The kids are starting to get either bored or tired and start shouting requests to anyone who’s willing to listen: they want hearts and stars drawn in the air, and their names in loopy English. Yurio is taking on every challenge they throw his way, but then one of them, Axel probably, going by her mother scolding her for being so demanding, asks Yuuri to dance.

"Please! Please! Please!" The three of them join forces and ignore Yuuko, and they don’t give Yuuri a choice.

Viktor is sitting at an abandoned seaside, in a little-known town called Hasetsu, but he could just as well be sitting in the tsar’s box in the Mariinsky because the unmeasurable beauty Yuuri’s dancing across the sand with would fit him right in with the rest of the soloists. Viktor’s transfixed, his eyes glued to the delicate figure dancing around the rainbow flowers he’s drawing with every turn, every dip, every skip, and every jump, his own sparkler burning away and the ashes tumbling down his fingers.

“Pretty sight, isn’t he.”

Viktor doesn’t know how Minako ended up sitting next to him, but she’s bumping shoulders with him and smiling with the knowledge of a woman who can put two and two together.

“He’s a wonderful dancer,” Viktor says quietly and he forces himself to look at the teacher, not at Yuuri. He doesn’t like the way Minako teases him like it's some kind of running joke she's trying to confirm.

“Damn right he is,” she says, the grin pulling across her face even wider. “Is that why you’re here? Because _he’s a wonderful dancer_?”

"Because he’s wasting his talent,” Viktor answers, and it's one of many truths, just probably not the one the teacher is looking to hear.

Minako raises her eyebrows but decides to keep whatever opinion she’s forming to herself. Viktor gathers she’s kind of a gossiper though, so all he can do is hope she won't spread unnecessary info.

He exchanges the remnants of his sparkler for his still half full bottle of beer. He takes a swig, then turns to watch Yuuri again. He's dancing something else now, something that Viktor knows by heart too, could dance without music too; it's been drilled into him half a lifetime ago and it's still one of his favorites, a snippet from the Swan Lake.

He picks up Yuuri’s phone and takes a few more photos, glad for the handy camera access straight from the lock screen.

“Stalker,” Yurio scowls as he collapses on Viktor's other side, out of breath and Lutz hanging off his neck. 

Minako snorts and breaks into laughter, and slaps Viktor on his shoulder a couple of times. Minako definitely knows about Viktor’s silly little crush on Yuuri, but he doesn’t have the energy to deal with her too, not when Andrei N—

Viktor snaps a photo of the youngster’s sweaty face, angling the camera below Yurio’s chin, his nostrils not so _artistically_ illuminated by the phone’s flash when it goes off.

“Jerk!” Yurio swats at him and Viktor joins Minako laughing.

“Mom will kill you if I happen to learn any English from you," Lutz sing-songs in his ear with a devilish grin.

“Just wait five years more, then you can say whatever the hell you want,” Yurio grunts.

“Yurio.” Viktor scolds him; it comes almost like second nature now. A week training this guy turned him into a younger version of Yakov, always ready to jump the rebel to teach him manners – futilely, of course.

Yurio doesn’t bother with a retort, and when Viktor looks, he catches him watching Yuuri too, and for the first time this entire week Viktor recognizes respect in the usually hateful green eyes. Maybe this is the moment he finally understands why Viktor’s so determined to train  Katsuki Yuuri.

Hiroko’s sparkler supply slowly empties, and Yurio joins Takeshi to set up the two dozen little rockets that still remain at the bottom of her box. Yuuri takes his place next to Viktor, breathless and flustered but happy, his glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose again.

“The girls are awfully demanding,” he moans, stretching out on his back. He’s wearing tipsiness adorably. He tugs on the sleeve of Viktor’s white shirt until he falls on his back too. That’s how they’re watching the fireworks: eyes on the sky and Yuuri’s fingers never letting go of Viktor's shirt.

* * *

 

The group is separating after they collect all the rubbish and put out the fire; the Nishigoris go back home because the triplets have kindergarten the next morning, Minako back to her place too, and the rest of them to Yu-Topia.

Yuuri and Hiroko are talking about dinner, whether she should make the katsudon tonight, Yuuri did win after all and Viktor did promise he’d eat it with him in that case. It’s in Japanese, but Viktor understands the question.

“Mm… Maybe tomorrow,” Yuuri says and Viktor understands that as well.

“Not hungry?” He asks in halting Japanese and Yuuri blinks in surprise before he shakes his head, no. He’s smiling and when he turns back to his mother, who doesn't look surprised at all because it's her Viktor practices most of the stuff he learns with, he looks slightly flustered.

Everyone retires to their rooms, except for Viktor who can’t find the sleepiness in himself. He can’t forget the promise he made to Makkachin earlier, that he’d take him for a walk later on, so that’s what he does, even though the poodle spent the whole evening in the garden.

Hiroko still has his phone and that's fine because he doesn't want it back. He empties his backpack looking for his emergency iPod and takes that instead, just loads one of the old playlists and he’s ready to go.

He created one of his favorite skate programs to Chopin's Raindrop. He doesn’t remember when he saved it on the music player, but he’s glad it’s that hesitant yet powerful lull of the music what pulls Viktor back gently from the dream he's been living at the seaside with Yuuri and cushions the fall as reality seeps back within the cracks.

He was fourteen, too innocent for a world full of wolves, and he skated obliviously, a silver raindrop falling and twirling and falling and twirling and dancing with fairies before he landed softly on a patch of grass, graceful as a teardrop. He was a boy in silver leggings and a white top embroidered with silver threads that bloomed into tiny roses, up his abdomen and chest, fading on his shoulders. His long, silver hair was like a crown on top of his head… Lilia spent an hour braiding it intricately before the competitions.

He isn't a raindrop anymore and his hair is too short to braid. The person he dedicated the program to never came to watch unless you count the wolves he sent in his place, the wolves that never left.

Viktor lets Makkachin off the leash as soon as they reach the tiny forest near the baths, and sits on one of the benches while his dog sniffs along the thin path crossing the woods. He removes one of the earpieces, the tunes of Raindrop long gone; it’s dark out here and he doesn’t want Makka to wander too far away, wants to hear in case anything happens to him.

Makka isn’t very active tonight though; he’s staying close to Viktor, not prancing around like he usually would.

“Makkachin,” he says softly and holds his hand out with his palm up invitingly, and the poodle obediently trails close to him. “What’s up?”

Makka pushes his head under Viktor's hand and sits, and Viktor turns it, palm down, to pat him. He ends up sliding down onto the ground to hug him close, and Makka, the good boy he always is, lets him like he always does.

It feels like Viktor’s breathing for the first time since Andrei Nik—

Stop.

—since Andrei Nikiforov’s calls.

There you go.

You said it and the world didn’t end, did it?

Makka keeps tonguing his cheek and that’s perfectly fine, it’s just dog saliva. It’s the most comforting kiss Viktor knows.

He continues breathing.

In, out.

In, out.

In, out.

Good.

Carefully, tentatively, with a hammering heart, he wonders if Andrei Nikiforov gave up calling, if he found other ways to communicate whatever he had to say so urgently. Messages, emails, a shower of fresh articles in the evening press… It’s still only halfway through the day in Russia.

In, out.

In, out.

It’s okay. There’s little that man can say that hasn’t been said before, and his and Yuuri’s sponsorships are more or less secured with the remaining supportive companies by now.

But what about his fans? What will they make of all the nasty articles?

And what about Viktor? Will he be able to recover by tomorrow and be the coach Yuuri deserves? He wanted Viktor Nikiforov for a coach, not this sad excuse of a grown-up man who allows his daddy issues to control him.

Makka becomes fidgety sooner than Viktor prefers, so he lets him have another short walk around the trees before they head back to Yu-Topia. Without his phone, he hasn’t got a sense of time, but it must not be too late if the lights are still on downstairs.

Anyway, he’ll just head up, have a quick shower, and find a book. He’s been meaning to reread that one about—

“Viktor?”

Yuuri?

He quickly assesses the situation in the restaurant when he pops his head in: the tables are clean and back to their original positions. The TV is off, the bar is closed, and there’s just one cushion occupied, by Yuuri, who’s waiting with two large bowls of katsudon in front of him.

His prize. He changed his mind, he wants his prize right now.

"I thought you weren't hungry..." Viktor trails off.

“Mom changed my mind,” Yuuri says with an awkward half-shrug. "I'm… easy to manipulate with food."

“Really? You don’t say,” Viktor answers with the weakest of his collection of forced smiles.

“Eat with me, please?”

As if saying no to Yuuri is even an option.

Makkachin can't say no either; he's already inside, settling at the shorter side of the table with his chin propped on the wooden surface. He's sending longing glances at the fragrant bowls of human food, even though Viktor has never made a habit of feeding him in such a way.

He trails in too, sits opposite of Yuuri and pulls the meal closer to him.

“Itadakimasu!” Yuuri says with a sigh and digs in, and Viktor follows his example.

The food is barely lukewarm, it has to have been sitting on this table for a while. A glance at the old, tall clock in the corner tells Viktor it’s nearing midnight. He’s been out with Makka for longer than he thought.

“Have you been waiting for me?”

If Viktor has been supervising the preparation of his celebratory dinner like a good coach’s supposed to, the katsudon would be steaming hot, the crust on the pork crispy, and the egg freshly prepared. Yuuri deserves the best katsudon because he won't be having it until at least October when the Grand Prix kicks off.

“It’s fine,” Yuuri says.

And it really seems he doesn’t care. His face mirrors a one-of-a-kind childish happiness, and when Viktor pays more attention, he can tell he’s enjoying every bite by how he shuts his eyes and his chin tilts up, a satisfied smile adorning his features.

“So is this the moment that inspired your skating today?" Viktor asks, just with the tiniest bit of tease in his voice. He's been wondering, a nagging little voice at the back of his mind when it wasn't occupied with Yurio’s disappearance and then the endless calls.

“What? No!” Yuuri splutters over a mouthful of rice, half of it ending up on Viktor's side of the table. "Ah—Sorry!" Makka's trying to lick it, so Yuuri picks the rice up one by one.

“Then?” Viktor pries.

He wants to know what it is, wants to know so the next time his skater is stuck in modest shyness, he can push the correct buttons.

“Umm… You know what, it’s rather embarrassing,” Yuuri mutters. “I—I’d rather not say it.”

More embarrassing than the katsudon metaphor? Impossible, Viktor thinks, although Yuuri’s cheeks do turn a bright shade of pink.

“You'll have to tell me sooner or later,” Viktor presses. “I’m your coach.”

“A-Another day!” Yuuri stammers.

Viktor sighs. Yeah, right… Yuuri has this invisible line that divides the topics he’s okay to talk about and those that are considered so personal they cause an instant step back in their conversations.

“Yuuuuri!" He tries the last time, elongating his name because he knows by now that works with him.

“Viktor…” Yuuri mumbles, his eyes cast not on his face like Viktor's are on his, but somewhere in line with his torso. "It's nothing."

“It’s not nothing because it obviously worked,” Viktor says as a way of encouragement.

“I just… I think I figured out the story behind your program, that’s all.”

“Really?! Did you?” Viktor can’t help the extra powerful beats his heart is trying to crack his ribcage with. “Did you?”

“No, well, I mean—” Yuuri’s stuttering. Then sighs, giving up. “But please, promise you won’t laugh.”

“I promise I won’t laugh.”

“I didn’t understand what eros meant to me until you gave me your costume.”

“Oh?”

“I thought…” He’s still avoiding Viktor’s eyes. “Well…" He's gesturing at himself but doesn't say anything else, and Viktor can't read his mind.

"Yes?" Viktor is giving him the most earnest facial expression he can manage. He doesn’t find this funny at all, doesn’t know where Yuuri even gets the idea from. He senses, even through the thick, dense fog in his mind, that this is a delicate subject. The last thing Viktor wants is to step on eggshells while crossing the large space that spans between the two of them.

Yuuri shrugs. He focuses on his dinner again, ignoring the fact that Viktor is even more confused than a minute ago.

 If Viktor's mind wasn't already trying to pull in half a dozen different directions and tearing apart in the process, probably he'd have the headspace to try decoding Yuuri's message.

Yuuri’s been entirely something out of this universe the whole day, both on the ice and afterward at the seaside, but… 

Some things don’t make sense here, and they run deeper than the established fact that he's inexperienced in relationships.

But whatever the problem is, Yuuri faced it today, and if it’s up to Viktor, he’ll continue to do so.

Viktor picks at his meal. He’s barely eaten any of it, but his stomach is already protesting against the idea of piling any more food in it. He isn't in pain yet, but the familiar, uncomfortable feeling promises nothing good for tomorrow.

“Are you not hungry…?” Yuuri asks timidly a good ten minutes later, his own bowl empty already. “Maybe I should have asked you before I let mom have her way in the kitchen…”

“It’s fine,” Viktor answers. There’s nothing Yuuri can do about it.

"I just thought I didn’t see you having lunch," Yuuri thinks aloud while his eyebrows furrow.

Didn’t Viktor have lunch? Possibly not. He can’t remember. It isn’t important, he used to often skip lunch anyway when he was too busy training. His only answer to the other man is a shrug though. Still, he keeps picking at the food just to make him feel less guilty.

The next time he looks at Yuuri, he meets with strangely confused, almost worried eyes. His thoughts are a mystery to Viktor, and he doesn't try to say anything to make it easier to understand him.

His mind involuntarily supplies Viktor with totally uncalled memories, shadow touches from when they hugged at the seaside a while ago. Viktor feels the pull behind his ribcage, the need to have that again, but he doesn’t give in to it.

Why not?

Yuuri didn't mind it that time, didn't mind it at the rink today, probably wouldn’t mind it now either.

But tonight is about him, they're celebrating his victory, and there's no place for Viktor's minuscule drama with his family when he looks so happy.

“I’ll take Yurio to the airport in the morning," he says instead, a well-needed distraction that they're both grateful for. "You can start the usual training without me, okay?"

“Yeah,” Yuuri hums, but his eyes are still on Viktor, still penetrating, still searching, still waiting for answers.

What’s the question?

Is there a question?

“Do you think taxi or train would be better?”

“Mari says she can drive you guys.”

“Thank you, but it isn’t necessary,” Viktor says with a practiced smile. “I’ll make sure to tell her too.”

“In that case,” Yuuri says, the frown-lines deepening instead of easing up, “I don’t think Yurio would survive a train ride in the morning rush hours." Yes, Viktor remembers crazy videos on social media, of Japanese trains more cramped than tins of sardines. He almost shudders at the memory. “But the taxi ride will take longer and it’s more expensive.”

* * *

 

Viktor doesn't feel like reading the book he planned when he retires to his room half an hour later, especially not after Yuuri pulls something out of his pocket that looks exactly like his phone.

"Mom found it under the tables, she said you thought you’d lost it?”

“Ah, right. Thank you, Yuuri. What a relief!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kanpai! = Bottoms up!  
> Hanabi = Firework  
> Genkan = An entryway into a home where guests are supposed to follow certain etiquettes (like taking the shoes on/off)  
> Itadakimasu! = Thanking the food before digging in
> 
>  
> 
> Hello everyone, thank you for keeping up with the story! The next chapter is coming up soon. Until then, if you enjoy the story so far, please consider leaving a kudo or a comment. I'm on Tumblr [@glitterburg](http://glitterburg.tumblr.com), you're always welcome there as well.


	6. Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Communication is key, they say, and it proves to be true one more time when Viktor and Yuuri's relationship stalls with the lack of it. Communication is a key that fits into the lock of the door that keeps them away from each other, and they're about to find out what happens when they open it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting somewhere here! I outlined the remaining chapters, and if everything goes well, I'll round to story up by chapter 25. That's a scary number seeing that all my chapters are 10k or even longer, but it's an exciting challenge at the same time.
> 
> Playlist:  
>  the unheard, first version of Yuuri on Ice  
>  Tom Tykwer: Cloud Atlas: All Boundaries are Conventions

Viktor’s mind reaches momentary peace after he reads the first dozen messages and complete numbness after the second. He’s scrolling through the rest not even paying attention to what they say, withdrawn and protected by the unbreakable wall of milky fog in his mind.

The voice messages are more difficult to handle. Andrei Nikiforov’s voice is sharp and unforgiving, and each word is like another dagger into Viktor’s heart.

He spits the usual threats; they're always the same ones and they don't impact him as much as before. Maybe there is the number of assaulting messages that will completely detach Viktor from his father emotionally. If the blissful blankness he feels now is anything to go by, then there’s hope.

Among the sea of messages, he finds the only one that comes from someone else:

_Hmm, you mean to say I'm not the only hot piece of ass on the ice anymore? ;)_

Chris’s texts have been rhapsodic since Viktor moved to Japan and he’s been answering them sporadically. His friend’s ideas regarding him and Yuuri are getting out of hand lately, and he doesn’t seem to listen when Viktor tells him their relationship is only professional and completely platonic. He gave up explaining a couple of weeks ago and stopped answering altogether quickly after.

He lets the phone fall on top of the blanket on the side of the bed he doesn’t occupy, turns the other way, cuddles with Makkachin, and enjoys the forty-two minutes left until the alarm goes off.

He set it earlier than usual because he isn’t sure what to expect from the traffic on the way to Fukuoka. Yurio isn’t a tame person on a normal morning and waking up even earlier just makes him all the grumpier. At least today he seems to reserve to silence and doesn’t share any witty comments when Viktor refuses the grilled fish and vegetables. Probably he thinks Viktor’s hungover, but he can't bring himself to care, really.

Hiroko caresses his shoulder on her way out, empty tray in her other hand, and the gesture is so surprisingly unusual that it startles Viktor.

She's spent a minute in the same room with him, and she already knows not to mistake Viktor’s lack of appetite for a man’s who had too much to drink the night before.

They get Yurio’s stuff downstairs, an extra wheelie bag joining the leopard print one and a backpack the boy arrived with, full of fashion disasters he picked up from the cheap market in town. When they’re ready to leave, Hiroko pushes a thermos flask in Viktor's hand, filled with the herbal tea which did miracles to his him before.

“Thank you,” he says.

Hiroko just smiles at him and says her goodbye to Yurio, and then they load into the taxi that she was kind enough to call for them.

The road for the majority of the ride is less busy than Viktor expected, but as they get closer to the city, they do eventually end up in an endless queue of cars. The ride is very silent; the driver doesn't speak English, and even though Viktor knows some Japanese now, he still can’t answer the occasional questions coming his way. Yurio is looking out the window with his forehead pressed against it.

"Are you alright?" Viktor ends up asking because the kid is unusually silent.

“Yeah, I…” Yurio falters. He barely ever is at a loss for words and that sets off alarms.

“Gonna miss us?” Viktor asks lightly, but it’s only half a joke. He will certainly miss the Russian company.

"That loser better man up before he shows his face at a normal competition." Yurio scowls.

“Still hating him, I see.”

“No, well yes, but if he took you from us, the least he can do is make it worthy, you know. Win.”

“He didn’t take me,” Viktor says, probably just a little brighter than necessary.

“You know what I mean.” Yurio rolls his eyes. “Look, I get it, he fried your brain or whatever, I don’t know. But Yakov hates you now and I don’t know how this is worth it?”

Oh. Yurio never mentioned anything like this about Yakov before. His words sting more than they should and Viktor tries to ignore the feeling.

“I’ll speak to him,” he says. “I’ve been meaning to call him anyway.” Meaning to? He's been trying for weeks. If only Yakov wasn't unreachable. Yurio tends to exaggerate from time to time, but… why else would Yakov ignore him?

“Yeah? Good luck.”

The Aeroflot platinum card allows them quicker access to everything, so the check-in at the airport goes smoothly. The flight leaves in a couple of hours, but they say a brief goodbye without wasting too much time. Viktor makes sure the kid knows he’s a phone call away whenever he needs help, and then they’re parting ways: Yurio joins the queue to pass the security and then join the fancy V.I.P. waiting area, and Viktor turns towards the exit.

He's contemplating joining the line at the taxi station but then decides the morning sunshine is too inviting to squeeze into another air-conditioned car just yet. He ends up walking the route to the train station he took with Makkachin barely a month ago.

He isn’t in a hurry to go back to Hasetsu, so he finds an unoccupied bench in the park where he stopped by with his poodle the last time, and watches the locals passing him by, getting ready for the day.

Yuuri has to have arrived in the Ice Castle already. Viktor isn't concerned about not supervising him because the skater knows what training he needs to get done before the rink opens to the public. It was a small luxury that it closed entirely to cater to their needs the week approaching the Onsen On Ice.

The train Viktor ends up taking is almost completely empty. It seems like the traffic is way busier coming into Fukuoka than going out, and Viktor isn't complaining. He enjoys the quietness in the carriage for the near ninety minutes the ride takes.

It isn’t noon yet by the time Viktor winds up at the rink, and Yuuri isn't there. Has he already left, or hasn't he arrived yet? Viktor doesn't find out until he runs into a slightly confused Yuuko, who apparently hasn’t seen him the entire morning.

Viktor has a pretty good idea where he is… The younger man exhausted himself beyond easy recovery before the competition. He pulled all-nighters more than once, the last one right before the competition and that wears on even the physically fit. He could go back to Yu-Topia and wake him up, or just ring him until he answers, but that wouldn't lead to anything productive. He needs Yuuri in top form: well rested and ready to dive into intense training.

Viktor returns to the changing room from the rinkside and shreds his shoes, replaces them with the skates he’s been carrying around in his backpack the entire morning. He ties his fluffy jacket around his waist and heads back out, intent to use the remaining time until twelve o’clock productively.

The only reason Viktor stays until past nine in the evening is that he's certain that Yuuri will eventually show up.

Viktor had done some skating in the morning, and then in the afternoon between the classes that the rink organizes. The rest of the time he sat out, watching the youngest children enthusiastically learn how to stay upright on booted feet from Yuuko, and the older ones practice figures and spins. There’s a hockey class led by Takeshi for boys between twelve and fifteen years, and another between fifteen and eighteen – the ages overlap a bit depending on whether the kids are in junior high or in high school. After six, the entire rink is at Viktor’s disposal again.

He has to reserve to minimalist choreographies though; his stomach ache is impossible to ignore, and it’s only getting worse when he tries to force his abdomen to flex in unnatural ways.

Yuuri turns up at quarter past nine and Viktor knows he’s here before he sees him: the sounds of doors crashing from outside are getting louder and as the last pair of doors smashes open, it reveals an out of breath, panicky Yuuri.

“I’m sorry! I overslept!”

That’s a very subtle way to put it, but Viktor doesn’t bother to be upset – as he said before, sleeping is also an important part of training. Seeing how worried Yuuri is though, he can’t stop a snarky little remark about airlines and awful delays.

Viktor isn't tired yet and Yuuri should have the energy of a person who just recently woke up, so they throw themselves into practice, riding the success of yesterday’s performance and familiarize Yuuri as much with this new interpretation of eros as they can before he can shy away from the idea.

 

* * *

 

 

The thing is that, Viktor starts to realize as the days pass and for the first time it's only him and Yuuri on the ice, the quality of Yuuri's performance is too dependent on his mood swings. Viktor can’t quite put his finger on this idea yet because he can’t quite put his finger on Yuuri’s character either, but there seems to be only a very narrow space in Yuuri’s head that enables him to show his full potential. He doesn't get to that narrow space as often as Viktor needs him to. He's often overtaken by thoughts upon thoughts upon thoughts, and that's when his skating becomes less impactful.

Viktor isn't sure what to do with this new revelation; it's too different from what he is used to in his own behavior. He rarely contemplates what drives other skaters these days, and so even though he knows for example that Georgi suffers from similar overthinking tendencies, he has no idea how his rinkmate handles them. Viktor is an overthinker too. He knows he is. But that doesn't distract him from what he's doing on the ice; if anything, it makes him even more focused.

He puts all of his energy into trying to find a solution. As a coach, it's his job to establish a relaxed, worry-free environment for his skater, and it’d help him greatly if he _actually knew_ his skater. Because what does Viktor know about Yuuri? Not much, if anything at all. He doesn’t necessarily think he’s in position to complain: slowly but surely, Yuuri’s opening up, like how a stray dog takes time to trust the human showing them a friendly hand. It’s an accomplishment Viktor can’t dismiss, even though he’d prefer a speedier development. On Love: Eros is coming together, but it’s shaky on the edges when Yuuri isn’t in the right headspace, and Viktor still doesn’t know how to get him there.

Then, there’s the matter of the free skate program which they haven’t even started working on yet.

It’s the perfect opportunity for Viktor to push all of his personal problems to the back of his mind and focus solely on pulling Yuuri’s program together.

That requires teamwork though because Viktor’s not a mind reader. Viktor is more than willing to meet Yuuri where he is, but he doesn’t know where that is unless Yuuri invites him there. Viktor keeps gently prodding him but to no avail; he's running into walls.

“You tend to flub your jumps when something’s on your mind,” he says one day when Yuuri falls again and falls because he isn't concentrating, not because his technique is off. The implied message doesn’t seem to go through; Yuuri’s taking the comment to his heart and continues the practice even more tightly shut into his own head, gears turning so loud Viktor thinks he can hear them. It’s not what he meant to happen.

"Why don't you sit down for ten minutes? Take a break," he says another time when Yuuri almost loses his balance landing an easy triple toe loop. Yuuri flinches and does as Viktor asks, but Viktor can tell he’d rather stay on the ice.

"Let's take tomorrow off. You're too hard on yourself these days," he says the morning after an unusually disastrous day when Yuuri didn’t even manage to fall the way he’s been drilled since his childhood and bruised his left hip. Yuuri objects, but in the end, he seems to remember why Viktor is the coach, not him.

An idea is slowly being born in Viktor’s mind. His own strength lies in his ability to jump; Viktor’s the best of his generation, and he even manages to surpass the legends of the generation before his. Yuuri’s strength lies in his perfect spin postures and gunfire footwork, and most importantly, his emotional devotion.

“Maybe we should nix having three quads in your free program.” Viktor thinks aloud on the same evening while he’s completing his final stretches in the baths. The embarrassment sitting on Yuuri’s face every time Viktor does it is only one of the two reasons why he likes timing it after soaking in the relaxing hot water.

“But! I-If I want to win the Grand Prix Final, I need them!” His reaction to the sight of Viktor’s body is entertaining and endearing at the same time. As someone who grew up looking at naked male bodies at home as well as at the training facilities he's been skating at, Yuuri sure stumbles on his words more often than expected when he's facing a naked Viktor.

“Why? Even if there’s only one quad, just get a perfect score on the program components and you’ll be fine.”

Yuuri keeps his face carefully turned everywhere but at Viktor, so he can't observe his reaction. He knows what he's saying makes sense. The jumps are Yuuri’s weakest spot, and the first components his body rejects when he’s distracted. He falls more than he doesn’t, and if he adds the factor that Yuuri’s confidence is still hardly existent… Well. It makes perfect sense to ignore the jumps until his success ratio landing them grows significantly.

Viktor changes the course of his reasoning. Maybe instead of hearing what he cannot do, hearing what he can do the best will get him where he needs him to be.

“Do you know why I decided to become your coach?” He asks kindly when he stands up and moves to stretch Yuuri’s legs as it slowly became the norm between them through the course of time. “I was drawn to you because of the music your body is creating when you skate. I wanted to make a highly difficult program to maximize this advantage.”

Even if it’s only half of the truth, it’s still true, Viktor thinks as he pulls Yuuri out of the pool. Even thinking about choreographing something that matches Yuuri’s skills gives him a thrill. With his dance history, he might even turn out to be an excellent producer of his own program!

Yuuri doesn't think so, of course, and Viktor realizes that he expected the reaction. He blames his previous coach, who, according to him, always preferred to have full control over his programs, but refuses to elaborate further on it. Yuuri doesn't explain why that should stop him from being more initiative now, and Viktor's curious.

He pushes Yuuri for half an hour until he finally gives in and dials the said previous coach with shoulders so tense the muscles sit like stones around his bones. The way he stutters over the phone is familiar and alien at the same time; Yuuri’s prone to stutter and mumble, but this exceeds even what Viktor knows to be normal. He seems terrorized with his breath uncomfortably quickening when the call connects and the cheerful voice of Celestino Cialdini reaches Viktor in the otherwise silent changing room.

Viktor doesn’t like Cialdini’s attitude regarding his status as Yuuri’s coach, but he ignores it. He knows he can only thank the international press for it; how else would Yuuri’s ex-coach in Detroit know about Viktor if not from the scandalous news that origins from Russia and spread in the rest of the world?

Viktor gets the info he’s after, though. More than what he’s hoping for, actually. The relief Yuuri feels after finally gathering the courage to talk to Cialdini is pushed out of the way by a sharp intake of breath when Viktor doesn’t let the topic go just yet. He taunts Yuuri to show him the only song he wanted to skate to.

It takes him a day, but eventually, Viktor gets to listen to it by the side of the rink. Frankly, it's not bad music, it's just a little simple. Compared to that fantastic playlist Yuuri plays in the evenings while preparing to sleep, it is, well, lukewarm to say the least. It's melodic and lovely, but melodic and lovely won't win him gold. Melodic and lovely won’t showcase his talent to its full potential.

It’s surprising how personally Yuuri takes his criticism like he's offended Yuuri on some deep level. When Viktor advises him to keep looking for new ideas, he looks hurt.

 

* * *

 

 

“There was that music you played a couple of weeks ago," Viktor says at dinner a few days later. "I've no idea what it was, but I'd recognize it anytime. If we could just go through your playlist together…"

"W-What song?!" Yuuri stutters, embarrassed even though Viktor assured him already that he’s looking forward to hearing his music in the evenings.

“The one you were listening to on the day we visited Hasetsu Castle.”

Yuuri stares at him from over his bowl of fresh seafood salad.

“That’s… a very specific memory.”

Yeah. People can accuse Viktor of not remembering the important stuff, but Viktor remembers everything that is important to him.

“Can you describe it?” Yuuri asks tentatively.

“It’s music angels would dance to in pairs on a dancefloor of clouds, if they were to throw a ball in a memoir of the losses humanity suffered,” Viktor says. Yuuri blinks at him a few more times.

“Umm…”

Oh, right. Viktor forgot that people usually don't feel the music the way he does. It's no surprise that Yuuri either, it’s just that Viktor grew so comfortable around him that it slipped his mind.

He’s picking on his plain boiled potato cubes he requested from Hiroko after finding it physically impossible to force any more rice down his throat. His stomach ache is getting better slowly, but Viktor thinks he’s had more rice in Hasetsu than in his twenty-seven years combined.

Yuuri glances around in the empty restaurant to check they wouldn’t be disturbing anyone, before pulling his phone out of his pocket and placing it in the middle of their dining table.

"I don't recall the song from your description," he says in a hushed voice, even though the room is empty. "But let's try to find it. I mean, if I listened to it then it means I liked it… and if you remember it then it means you liked it too, right? Could be the perfect free skate music.”

It is the best free skate music without a doubt. Viktor remembers even questioning Yuuri’s sanity for a moment that evening, not understanding why Yuuri never skated to it.

He opens his music app and loads all of his playlists. Their dull titles don't mean anything to Viktor; Favorite song 1 to 5, Happy song 1 to 3, or likewise boring sounding Heavy song 1 to 4 don’t carry much meaning. He thinks there’s a 90’s playlist as well, but the rest of the Japanese titles are lost on him.

“I guess it’s a sad sort of music…?” Yuuri asks shyly.

“Yes.” Viktor nods eagerly. "It was played by an orchestra, but it isn’t a classic.”

“I have a lot of those,” Yuuri muses as he opens the first favorites playlist and then taps on the first song.

“No,” Viktor says. Yuuri taps on the next, which draws another “No” from him almost immediately.

They continue this game for minutes until Viktor finally shouts a loud "Hahh!” He recognizes it. It's the same melody, but apparently, this is another version of it, not the one he's looking for.

“Oh…” is all of Yuuri’s reaction, but his face is too hard to read. “Okay…”

Viktor leans closer to the screen and gets that the song is actually part of a movie soundtrack, which is kind of unexpected… Viktor loves several composers who work within the movie industry, but the name of this one isn’t familiar, nor is the movie it is part of.

“May I?” Viktor asks, then pulls the phone closer to himself when Yuuri nods, quickly browsing through and sampling the entire album until his finger freezes over the title _All Boundaries are Conventions_. “This is it!”

They listen to the song while Yuuri keeps organizing shrimp and slices of cucumber on his plate. Viktor picks up another potato cube and pops it into his mouth.

“What do you think?”

“No,” Yuuri says in the end with a resigned sigh.

“No?” Viktor echoes his answer, baffled. "Why?”

“Because…” Yuuri falters. Viktor raises his eyebrows.

“I was thinking of using this song,” Yuuri explains in a small voice, “but I wouldn’t be able to do it justice the way I am now.”

“Why is that?” Viktor prods gently.

“The movie it’s from is my favorite,” Yuuri continues timidly. “It means a lot to me. There's a message I want to send when I skate it, but…”

Viktor’s eyebrows furrow. Skaters are usually willing to kill to obtain the rights to use a particular song from a soundtrack. Yuuri, again, manages to surprise Viktor in an unforeseen way.

"So," he says in the end because Yuuri left a loophole in his rejection, "when you get where you want to be to skate it, will you?”

His chestnut brown eyes grow impossibly large and round with surprise, like it’s hard to believe that Viktor actually takes his request seriously. “Y-Yeah…?”

Viktor smiles at him. They aren't any closer to finding their free skate music, but here's a sparkle of confidence from Yuuri that Viktor will store in his memory, fully intent on using it against him when needed in the future.

“Do you have any other suggestions…?” Yuuri mumbles after he eats all the pieces of cucumber from his salad. “I mean, I know you commission all of your music, but… I don’t know… isn’t there something you’d like to choreograph to…?”

Viktor has plenty of ideas, but that’s beside the point he’s trying to make.

“Yuuri," he says with a sigh. "As I said, I want to maximize the potential of your emotional devotion to the program. The only way to do that if it’s to the song you choose because it means something to you. You have to create your own story and part of it is the music that’s nobody’s but yours.”

Yuuri slowly nods. He’s wordless but looks like he understands what Viktor means.

“I’ll… I’ll let you know when something comes up,” he says quietly.

 

* * *

 

 

Hours turn into days and days turn into a week, and Viktor doesn't know what takes Yuuri so incredibly long. He likes how devoted Yuuri is to the task, but it’s almost the middle of May and that leaves them with about five months until the Grand Prix series begins.

It's been a gloomy week, and the constant rain and lack of sunshine seem to wear on Yuuri a lot. Viktor barely notices it—this sort of weather isn’t unusual in St Petersburg—but Yuuri’s like a sunflower; he’s withering without the warmth of sunrays on his face. Yuuri’s growing impatient because of the weather, and Viktor's growing impatient because he doesn't know how to handle his indecisiveness.

“What? You still haven’t chosen the music?  Why can’t you trust your own decisions? Just try to remember when a partner loved you or something." He sighs in the end. Surely, at least if he remembers what it feels like to be trusted unconditionally, that will help his confidence.

“ _Huh?!_ ” Viktor, even knowing that Yuuri’s been on the edge lately, doesn’t expect the upset response. The volume and hot anger poured into Yuuri’s usually quiet and reserved voice freeze Viktor for a long second. Then he realizes that he made a mistake…

“Oh, right. You’ve never had a lover.” That’s a not very well thought-out reaction either, Viktor admits, when Yuuri spirals into a panic that further spirals into sheer terror.

Viktor sends him back on the ice, tries to pull his attention back to the choreography he already knows. It doesn’t work; even though Yuuri is still in the Ice Castle with Viktor, his mind is already somewhere else. Was it Viktor's dislike for his indecisiveness, or could it be embarrassment over the lack of his experience in relationships that drew him further away?

How long can they continue living, skating, training together like this?

With such an extreme lack of communication and without understanding each other?

“Let’s go somewhere today,” Viktor proposes after he ends the training session earlier than originally planned. He meets rejection.

“Let’s go take a bath,” Viktor suggests when they get back to Yu-Topia, as that's the routine they fell into lately, but he's rejected again.

“Let’s go walk Makka,” Viktor offers when he finds Yuuri playing with him in the garden, and Yuuri walks away silently.

“Let’s go sleep together,” Viktor follows him to his room when Yuuri announces he’s ready to sleep after dinner and finds himself face to face with the closed door.

Yuuri doesn’t come for breakfast the next morning, so Viktor eats his potatoes alone, and takes off to the Ice Castle alone too. He skates for a while to pass time while he waits, but Yuuri doesn’t show up so Viktor decides it's time to address the fact that Yuuri’s avoiding him and that they evidently have a problem communicating with each other.

He doesn't know whether he's still sleeping or just moping in his room, but Mari is at least able to confirm that he still hasn't come down for breakfast.

“Good morning, Yuuri,” he says, entering his room without knocking. Yuuri’s awake, and seemingly just procrastinating in bed. Viktor’s appearance startles him, but whether that’s the reason he agrees to go down to the ocean remains unknown and unimportant. 

Training is out of the question with the way Yuuri is right now, so Viktor lets him have his breakfast in peace. Hiroko gives them a curious look while she refills Viktor’s thermos with another batch of herbal tea for his stomach.

The atmosphere hasn’t felt this tense and awkward since the first week of his arrival. Yuuri’s tighter lipped than ever, and Viktor occupies himself with scratching Makka’s tummy until they are ready to leave. The way down to the coast passes in similarly uncomfortable silence, Makka leading the way with Viktor, and Yuuri trailing after them half a step behind.

It's going to be a long day, but hopefully, it's not going to be a waste of time. Yuuri’s still quieter than normal, which almost feels impossible knowing how quiet he normally can be, but that… that's fine. Viktor can do the talking for now. Because in the end… when Viktor thinks about it… Yuuri doesn’t know all that much about him either. Not unless the information is coming from a magazine of some sort, which means his sources are never entirely truthful…

So Viktor starts by talking about Makkachin, and Yuuri listens to him in his quietness while they’re following the poodle with their eyes, chasing the waves and barking at tiny crabs crawling on the sand. They’re sitting further up the coastline, where soil ends and sand begins.

“Makka loves Hasetsu,” It's the first thing that comes to his mind, probably because it's the first change he notices in his poodle's behavior. His life in St Petersburg was boring, but Hasetsu is full of exciting, unfamiliar things. “Never in his life did he have this much freedom… or this much love.”

“Why…?” Yuuri asks, eyes following the poodle. "He's such a good dog.”

"When I got him, I was still with my parents and his living space was limited to my bedroom. And Yakov never wanted him around the rink, so he spent most of his life in there. He got more space when I moved into my own apartment, and I started to sneak him into the rink too, but it still wasn't what he deserved. I took him out as much as I could and hoped my dog sitter was doing the same when I was away competing. It sounds like I'm not a very good dog owner… even though I was always doing my best trying to give him what he deserved, even if it was out of my reach.”

And that he did. He always made sure Makka got enough walking time to make up for the cramped living space and notoriously kept him healthy with only the best quality foods.

“He’s a happy dog,” Yuuri mutters quietly. “He’s behaving so well too. And I’ve never seen a bond between dog and human quite like the one you share with him.”

“Hmm,” Viktor hums. “He’s my best friend.”

Yuuri keeps his eyes sternly on Makkachin, only nodding once. He acknowledges Viktor’s confession but doesn’t push for more details, and Viktor is grateful for that. He knows he decided today was about getting to know each other, but maybe even Viktor has his limits. It's been a while since he had anyone to talk to about himself – not Viktor Nikiforov the champion, but Viktor the person behind it.

“I don’t have a best friend,” Yuuri confesses after such a long pause in the conversation that Viktor already accepted that he won’t respond at all.

“Oh…” It’s his turn to be slightly surprised.

Yuuri shrugs. Maybe Vicchan was his best friend until he passed away.

“I mean, I have friends, but…” He shrugs again. “Like this guy I skated with in Detroit. I miss him a lot sometimes. But…”

Viktor gets it. He has some friends too, but he doesn’t feel very attached to any of them. Chris, for example. Chris is a very reliable friend, if not a bit overwhelming sometimes. Yakov’s a friend too, but he’s more like a father figure, really. Yurio will be a friend one day, maybe, when he matures. Mila is great, but her personality is too different from what Viktor prefers in close vicinity.

“Yuuko and Takeshi seem very nice,” he settles on saying in the end.

 “We drifted apart,” Yuuri answers quietly.

It happens, Viktor supposes, when one moves to the other side of the planet and neither parties are able to visit each other.

“Yuuko-chan and I used to be inseparable when we were children. We would practice skating together and we'd dream of becoming super successful pair skaters before I decided I wanted to do singles instead."

It must be very cute, a little Yuuri dancing on the ice with a partner…

“And what about Takeshi?”

“Hmm…” Yuuri pulls his knees up closer to his chin and hugs his legs. Viktor scraped the surface of a sensitive topic, it seems.

“He seems very supportive of you.”

“I guess,” Yuuri sighs. "I think he became friendlier when he realized there's no point being jealous."

“…Wow.” Viktor had no idea. “A love triangle?”

“Not really, no…” Yuuri’s licking his lips, and a telltale blush spreads on his cheeks. "I mean, I guess she's probably my childhood crush? Everyone has someone like that, right? Like, in kindergarten or in junior high… But anyway, Yuuko-chan was two years older than me, so… And then I saw this other person and they were so amazing that I neglected even Yuuko-chan to catch up to them one day.”

He doesn’t say the name, but this piece of information sits so well with the story Minako told him about a teenage Yuuri who had been obsessed with Viktor and Viktor's skating... Could that really be him?

“So that knowledge reassured Takeshi,” Viktor says instead of what he’s thinking.

“More like Yuuko-chan put him in place, I think…” Yuuri mumbles. "He was kind of a bully at the rink, always picking on the smaller ones and especially on me. It felt like that sometimes. He stopped after he started dating Yuuko though.”

Viktor presses his lips together tighter. He tries not to judge the Takeshi he got to know for something he did as a child, but considering how Yuuri never, _never_ complains about anything, he must have some very bad memories.

Makkachin finds a stick half buried under the sand and brings it over to them, drops it in front of Viktor’s feet, and looks at him expectantly. He picks it up and throws it, and watches the poodle taking off to fetch it. They stay like that, in silence until Makka eventually gets bored and settles down next to them.

“Oh, seagulls,” Viktor says when the birds’ cries cut through the quiet air between them.

“Black-tailed gulls,” Yuuri corrects him. Viktor wouldn’t know. He never really noticed them in St Petersburg, but their cries sound similar enough to remind him of his hometown now.

“I never thought I’d leave that city, so I never paid attention to them. Now that I’m not there anymore, I notice everything that reminds me of it, even if they aren’t exactly the same. Do you ever have times like that?”

Yuuri doesn't answer for a while, and when he does, it's not the answer to Viktor's question. 

Or is it?

At least it’s what Viktor meant to brush on today at one point.

“There was a girl in Detroit who was really pushy and kept talking to me. Once, a rinkmate got into an accident. I was pretty torn up with worry… I was in the hospital’s waiting room with her. She hugged me to comfort me, and I showed her away without thinking.”

“Wow, why?” Viktor asks gently to prod Yuuri into saying more.

“I didn’t want her to think I was feeling unsettled. I felt like she was intruding on my feelings, and I hated it.”

He keeps his knees tucked tightly in his chest and hides half of his face behind it, looking over the open sea, eyes not really focusing on anything in particular.

“I didn’t understand why I was behaving that way at first, but when I was thinking about it later, I realized that Minako-sensei, Nishigori, Yuuko-chan, and my family never treated me like a weakling. They all had faith that I’d keep growing as a person and respected the way I was. So maybe she didn't mean to treat me like a weakling either.”

Yuuri’s the opposite of a weak person, Viktor thinks. Determination like Yuuri’s is hard to come by, and persistence to improve even after numerous failures. Everyone’s worst enemy is the voice they’re trapped in their own heads with, and fighting it is anything but the action of a weak person. He doesn’t elaborate much on this out loud, though; he’s sure Yuuri knows it already, but he does feel the need to confirm that nobody thinks he's weak.

“Accepting support from the people around you is important,” Viktor adds. “Your friends, your family… your coach.” Makkachin perks his head up when a dozen gulls land not far from them, picking at the sand looking for something edible. “And I want to be able to give you the support that you need.”

Yuuri quietly hums. There’s nothing different in the way he’s sitting next to Viktor, except for his eyes that now come in to focus.

“What do you want me to be to you?” He asks. Establishing this is important.

Yakov fills in the role of a father figure in Viktor’s life in the absence of a real father. Viktor himself has been a good senior to many juniors and smaller kids at his rink in St Petersburg. Role model to some, kind of like an older brother to Yurio, a guy friend to Mila who otherwise doesn't believe in friendship between guys and girls. It's easier for Viktor as well when he knows what kind of role he's required to play. Maybe if he finally knows what Yuuri needs Viktor to be, the awkwardness between them will suffice.

Viktor doesn’t understand why he didn’t realize this sooner. Probably he was too focused on what he wanted to be—a coach, a boyfriend maybe, one day—that he didn't see that it might not be what Yuuri wanted.

“A father figure?” He asks.

“No…”

“A brother? A friend?”

“No…”

“A boyfriend then, I guess. I can do my best.” He slips this last question into the conversation because he’s curious. If Yuuri would like that, he's very good at hiding it, but the panicked reaction he receives is endearing nonetheless. He jumps to his feet in surprise.

Viktor doesn’t expect Yuuri to come up with a suggestion of his own because he pretty much laid out every possible option in front of him. So when Yuuri exclaims that he wants Viktor to be himself, to be just Viktor, he doesn't know how to respond. He looks at Yuuri who is now regarding him with the most determined eyes and tries to understand. Why would he want Viktor as just Viktor?

Yakov wants him as the living legend skater. Chris wants him to be someone happier. Yurio wants him as a brother he can look up to. His parents want him as the picture-perfect husband of some prima ballerina who could live up to the fancy Nikiforov family name. His fans want him as the skater who’s able to surprise them year after year. But Yuuri chooses to want him to be… himself.

“I’ve always looked up to you because you’re everything I want to be.” Yuuri continues his rambling. “I ignored you because I didn’t want you to see my shortcomings. I’m not like you… and I shouldn’t pretend that I’m better than the person I am. And I don’t want you to pretend to be anything that isn’t you either.”

Viktor's heart leaps a beat. He doesn't exactly know how to be just Viktor anymore, but he's willing to give it a try if Yuuri tries as well.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri says in the end. “I’ll make up to you for my errors with my skating!”

It’s a promise that makes Viktor’s heart sing. If it’s a promise that Yuuri won’t attempt to shut him out while they’re training together, then he wants to witness it as soon as possible.

“Okay, I won’t let you off easy then,” Viktor answers and offers his hand for a shake that will seal the deal. “That’s my way of showing my love in return.” It’s a love that comes from just Viktor, a love that would match Yuuri’s in greatness.

Yuuri smiles at him. It’s a shy, unsure attempt at breaking the remaining ice that hasn’t shattered between them yet. They hold hands and Viktor stands up so he's able to look him in the eyes properly.

“I will do my best to trust everyone more… including you,” Yuuri says.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Viktor answers with a smile reflecting his.

“I’ll… I’ll try,” Yuuri answers sheepishly. “I’ve been terrible at it with Celestino.”

"Okay, then…" Viktor says after contemplating it for a few seconds. "We'll take small steps. How about you start by telling me if something I want you to do doesn't work out? I’ve never coached anybody before. I have to learn how to adapt to your training style.”

Yuuri nods, the same determination from before still lighting his eyes up.

“I— I can do that!”

Viktor squeezes the hand that he’s still holding and Yuuri squeezes back. It feels like for the first time they’re facing each other as equals.

The gulls behind Viktor start a row over something one of them dug up from the sand and Makkachin sprints towards them, barking loudly. The seagulls cry some more before they flutter to the water. The poodle follows them wherever they’re trying to escape.

“So you’ve been looking up at me, hmm?” Viktor asks with a gentle tease in his voice when his eyes find their way back to Yuuri, hands now by their sides.

Yuuri visibly stiffens for a second, but then slowly relaxes with a slow exhale.

“Yeah…” He mutters like it’s something to be ashamed of. “But you knew that already.”

That’s true. Yuuri already told him this much at the banquet after the finals, but this is the first time he mentions it since then.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t like to hear it,” he says with an easy smile. Now that communication should be easier between them, teasing Yuuri comes so naturally to him.

“Doesn’t it… weird you out?”

Makka is barking helplessly at the edge of the water, the gulls completely out of reach now, and looking at Viktor with those confused puppy eyes that are looking for consolation.

“No,” Viktor says slowly, focusing back on Yuuri. “You're a pro skater first and foremost, and you haven't kidnapped me yet or tried to sell me to the Japanese mafia for good money," he says with a wink.

Yuuri stumbles backward slightly. It takes him a moment to catch on Viktor's attempt at being funny.

“Yuuri, it's flattering to see how far you came being inspired by me. I’ve never met anyone like you before. Your commitment to skating is fascinating. Admirable, even.”

Yuuri’s cheeks are burning up again, the bright red flush spreading all the way to his ears and down his neck.

“Also, don’t us all have skaters we’re looking up at?” Viktor muses aloud. He settles back on the sand and Yuuri follows him.

“Did you have someone like that?”

“Definitely. I even had a couple of posters in my room for a while. Alexei Yagudin used to train in St Petersburg, not with Yakov though, but I got to see him a few times as a child. He retired a few years after I debuted in the seniors, so my admiration remained platonic, but Séphane Lambiel and I are friendly with each other to this day.”

“Oh…”

The passion Viktor felt watching those two skaters, and the passion that drew him to outdo himself and to outdo them year after year is gone from his life now, but it’s still there in Yuuri’s.

“Not weird at all,” he repeats.

Makkachin returns to them with the kind of whine that Victor recognizes as boredom. The seagulls are gone, and he investigated the area for long enough to stop finding it interesting.

“Shall we walk with Makka some more?" He suggests.

There's a new kind of peace settling between them as they make their way down the shore, shoes, and socks off, and gentle waves licking their toes. They aren't going anywhere in particular; as far as Viktor can see, the greenery continues along the coast and he can’t find anything that resembles a building. That’s alright. Neither of them feels like socializing with the people of Hasetsu right now.

They keep chatting, Viktor leading the conversation when it falters, and so he learns about the kind of city that Detroit is and in exchange he describes St Petersburg as well as he can.

“Do you miss it?” Yuuri asks at one point.

It’s the first time Viktor really thinks about it. He’s been dodging this same question whenever Hiroko or Toshiya or anyone else brought it up, but even now he rounds back to the answer that is most true: not at all.

It’s the place he calls his home because that’s where his apartment is and that’s where his rink is. He likes St Petersburg, because it’s familiar, and because even through the eyes of a local it’s a beautiful place, worthy to show off. But if he compares it to Hasetsu, with its usually sunny weather (not this week though…), cherry blossoms, excellent food, friendly locals, and Yu-Topia, shared with his poodle who’s happier than ever, he… prefers this.

“I miss Yakov,” he says, and that’s the only thing he honestly misses.

Viktor is still putting off calling him, even though they’re long overdue a conversation. He thinks about trying today, but he ends up having too much fun with Yuuri and doesn’t feel like ending it on a note of disappointment in case Yakov’s still adamant on ignoring him.

The boiled potato cubes don’t have much taste at dinner, and Hiroko’s herbal mixture isn’t affecting Viktor’s appetite positively either, but at least they’re helpful easing the awful ache in his stomach. His eating habits haven’t been the best these last few weeks, he knows. He realizes he’s dropped some weight, so as soon as his stomach is able to accept food more challenging than potatoes, he’ll work on maintaining a healthy diet again.

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor dials Yakov three days later, on a Friday evening after he and Yuuri wrap training up and Yuuri takes off for an evening jog. It feels like a good idea sitting on a bench in the changing room, and Viktor’s heart flutters with hope when Yakov picks his phone up after about five minutes. Though what Viktor initially considered a fortune turns into misfortune as soon as he hears Yakov’s barking.

“What do you want?”

Viktor almost flinches at the coldness in his mentor’s voice, but he shrugs it off in the end; he might just have an extraordinarily bad day with Yurio or something.

“So harsh, Yakov,” he says in the lightest voice he can manage, even though his stomach contracts with a foreboding, bad feeling. “I missed you.”

“Is that all?”

Why the hostility? Is Yakov still upset with him?

“How is Yura?" He asks in the end because that's the main reason he's calling after all. "I gave him a good short program. So much potential, right?”

Yakov scoffs but then says, "Whatever you did to him is working. Hasn't seen him so serious about practices in years."

That’s reassuring to hear. Yurio needs to train with genuine devotion if he wants to master his agape.

“Did you call Lilia?”

There’s only a grunt coming from the other end of the line, but Viktor knows it means a yes.

“Thank you.”

The silence settling between them grows uncomfortable.

“Did you get my messages?” He asks.

“I didn’t read them.”

Oh.

“…None of them?”

“None.”

“Why not?”

“You made a selfish choice, Viktor,” his mentor says sharply. He isn’t even Vitya anymore. The only person who still cared to use that nickname doesn’t care anymore… “You could have talked to me, we could have solved whatever problems you were having, but instead of that you went ahead and involved the name of your home rink in new scandals.”

"I'm sorry," Viktor sighs. "I didn't mean to involve the rink."

On one hand, he's apologizing, but on the other, wasn’t it Yakov who wanted Viktor to find Yuuri since the beginning? Didn’t he give Viktor Cialdini’s business card? He knows he's rambling on the phone, but he can’t stop at this poi—

“Enough, Viktor.” Yakov cuts his speech in half.

"I don't understand," he says. It sounds almost desperate. Yakov doesn’t make sense.

“You only think of yourself and that makes you selfish. A selfish coach is the worst kind of coach.”

“Yakov, I don’t understand,” he insists.

“The only thing you need to understand is that I don’t want you to call me or message me again unless you’re telling me you’re coming back to Russia.”

“Even if I wanted to,” Viktor starts quietly, “if you keep up with the news then you know it’s not possible right now.”

“We could have avoided it," Yakov says.

“You didn’t mind the idea of Yuuri with me before!” Viktor exclaims with a little more frustration in his voice than he means to show. "I'm happier when I'm around him." He adds, softer now.

“Enough, Viktor.”

There’s only the rhythmic beeping after Yakov hangs up, and Viktor can’t help but stare at his phone in disbelief. What the hell is going on?!

His mind is still lingering on the conversation while he gets rid of his sweaty shirt and pulls on a clean one, and he's still dazed when he walks out of the Ice Castle, barely registering Yuuko’s cheerful wave and calling “Otsukare!” after him.

Yakov is angry. So what. It isn’t like Viktor wasn’t suspecting it, but to have it confirmed by the man himself… By the man who was Viktor’s shelter from the moment Lilia introduced them… The man who Viktor would call his father sooner than Andrei Nikiforov…

Nothing is forever, he reminds himself. Every relationship has an expiry date.

Viktor needs a distraction.

He follows the path to Minako’s bar. It’s a Friday evening and she doesn’t have dance lessons with Yuuri today, so Viktor’s fairly sure she’s in there. It’s not Minako’s company he's seeking, of course; rather, that delicious shochu’s she keeps under the counter.

There are a few people occupying the tables when Viktor arrives, but the counter is empty apart from Minako, who’s organizing plates and glasses in the cupboard behind it.

“You look like you could do with a drink,” she says when Viktor settles on a high stool.

“I was actually wondering if you still had some of the shochu we drank the last time.”

"What kind of question is that?" She answers with a smirk, the fat, brown bottle already in hand. She also pulls out a pair of glasses. She drops some ice cubes in them then fills them halfway, handing one over to Viktor.

“So, tell me, what did that silly boy do now?” She asks with a smile that promises she knows every stunt Yuuri’s capable of pulling during practice.

“It’s not him,” Viktor says simply.

He tips his glass this way and that and watches as the clear liquid sloshes around the ice cubes like waves of an upset ocean.

“Alright,” Minako hums after a while. “Bad news from home then?”

“We can say that…” Viktor downs the entire content of the glass with a sigh. Minako blinks at him for a few moments before she tips the neck of the shochu bottle to refill it.

“Anything you can solve from here?” She asks with an arch of her eyebrows.

“I don’t think so.”

“Then what’s the point of dwelling on it? Let it go.”

“Mhmm.” Easier said than done. After the buzz of the first glass kicks in, he’s more cautious with the second one.

“Let me ask you something,” she says. “Do you know what’s the key to a happy life?”

“Do tell me, please,” Viktor says. The request is more honest than he hopes it sounds in his mouth.

“Learning how to not give a shit,” she’s grinning and winking again, and Viktor can’t help a chuckle however half-hearted it sounds.

“I’m almost double your age, with double the experience. You can trust me.”

Viktor takes another sip and finds his glass empty. Maybe he isn’t as slow as he thought he was.

“So how is it working out for you?”

“I still look like I’m thirty, don’t I?” She asks. "It's the best anti-aging trick."

Viktor smiles, but it’s a smile that slips off his face quickly.

Minako pulls out a small bowl of rice crackers from under the counter, a mix of plain and spicy ones, and pushes them in front of Viktor.

“Eat something,” she says, but it sounds almost like an order, and Viktor pops one in his mouth because he knows tonight won’t end pleasantly if he forces pure alcohol on his still sensitive stomach, especially if it’s empty.

“Thank you.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

"I'd rather just have a few more drinks, to be honest," Viktor answers. That's really all that he wants tonight. He'll allow himself to get carried away a little, and then tomorrow continue like nothing happened between him and Yakov.

“Alright then,” Minako says with a sigh. “I’m here if you change your mind.”

Viktor doesn’t, but his mood improves considerably as he starts getting close to the bottom of the shochu bottle. Minako continues organizing her cupboard while she keeps responding to whatever Viktor thinks to share with her. He starts stumbling on his words while his sight also blurs on the edges, and okay, he may have had a few drinks more than he originally planned.

Minako looks just a bit too concerned while Viktor tries to find his feet on the ground. He ends up sitting back on the stool when the world spins around him a tad too fast.

“Ugh.”

“You’re Russian,” Minako says with tight lips. “I thought you held your alcohol better than this.”

“That’s an awful stereotype,” Viktor slurs.

“What was that?” She blinks at him, looking unusually confused.

“That’s an awful stereotype,” Viktor repeats for her benefit, but she doesn’t look any smarter after he gets the words out for the second time.

“I better call Yuuri.” She sighs while she pulls her phone out from her pocket.

“That’s not necessary,” Viktor objects.

“Can you try in Engli—" she cuts off whatever she was meaning to say when Yuuri answers the call. “Can you pick Viktor up from the bar?" A short pause. "Yes." A longer pause. "Fine." Viktor gives standing up another chance, but Minako grabs his shoulder from the other side of the counter and pushes him back in his seat. "See you then."

When the call ends, she turns her full attention to Viktor again.

“You stay there. Yuuri’s just a few minutes away.”

Viktor rests his face on the counter. He meant to insist, but the cool, polished wood feels too nice against his hot cheek.

Minako is right. He is supposed to hold his alcohol better than this. Maybe if he had had lunch or more than a few pieces of these crackers for dinner… Or if his stomach wasn’t aching this awfully much…

“You aren’t feeling alright,” Minako says, not even asking.

He closes his eyes. He doesn’t know how much time passes like this until the entrance door flies open and Yuuri’s familiar panting fills his ears.

“Minako-sensei!" He shouts unnecessarily loud because both her and Viktor are right in front of him.

The image of Yuuri’s worried face swims into Viktor’s line of sight as the skater crouches down next to him to examine him.

“How are you feeling?” He asks.

"'mm alright," Viktor mumbles.

“He keeps talking in Russian. I can’t understand a word,” Minako says somewhere over his head.

"'mm alright," Viktor repeats, louder, to make himself clear.

Yuuri’s fingers tremble slightly as he pushes strands of hair that stuck to Viktor’s forehead out of his face.

“He looked devastated when he came in,” Minako says. “Some bad news, he said.”

“She’s exaggerating,” Viktor mumbles.

Yuuri’s hand runs through his hair once more, making sure it doesn't fall back in his eyes.

"Of course."

“I’m learning how to stop giving a shit, Yuuri,” Viktor mumbles.

“What’s he saying?” Minako asks.

“Because Yuuri, Yakov hates me,” Viktor adds.

“Did he mention his coach tonight?” Yuuri asks, his slightly confused voice not directed at Victor.

“I’m saying now that Yakov hates me,” Viktor answers the same time Minako says,

“No.”

“Yuuuuri.”

“Alright, let’s go home,” Yuuri says finally, turning his attention fully to Viktor. “Can you stand?”

“Yeah,” Viktor proceeds to say while Minako answers, again,

“No.”

“Oh god, how am I taking him home?” Yuuri mumbles quietly. "There's no way a taxi will take us."

Minako offers Viktor a cup of water which he takes gratefully. His tongue feels dry like sandpaper, and it makes him realize once again how hot it is in here.

"'mm hot," he mumbles quietly.

“Okay, let’s get out of here then,” Yuuri answers. “It’s colder outside.”

When Viktor turns his head to look at him, Yuuri looks like he doesn’t know what to do. Then, in the next second, he carefully spins Viktor around on the stool and instructs him to hold onto him. He crouches down in front of him, offering his back to climb on.

Viktor dutifully slips his arms around Yuuri’s shoulders and neck.

“Hold on tighter,” Yuuri asks him and Viktor complies, an unfamiliar feeling of warmth spreading in his chest where it presses against Yuuri's back. He pulls his arms tighter around him and leans his chin on his shoulder.

He feels hands hooking around the back of his knees and he's being lifted up. Yuuri adjusts his weight until he's sitting right.

“I should come with you two,” Minako says as Yuuri carefully starts moving across the room.

"It's alright, I'll manage," Yuuri tells her. The door opens somehow, Viktor doesn’t bother to check how, and he gasps as the cool evening air hits him. He needs this chill on his face otherwise he’d have to shed all of his clothes…

“Are you feeling better?” Yuuri asks him quietly as they walk down the street. “Tell me if you need to vomit or something.”

"Mm…" Viktor hums.

He's slightly bouncing with every step and it doesn't do good to his belly if he keeps his eyes open. He doesn’t dare to trust his stomach… It feels like it’s on fire from the inside.

“So strong, Yuuri,” he slurs when the skater adjusts his hands under his knees.

“I’m not strong. You’re surprisingly light.”

How long is the walk home? Viktor doesn't know. But he knows that at one point he tells Yuuri,

“It hurts…”

To which Yuuri replies, “What hurts?”

“It hurts that Yakov hates me…” Viktor elaborates. He chances opening his eyes and turning his head towards Yuuri, but he can't see much of him. He’s keeping his eyes firmly on the road, concentration and a light layer of sweat on his face.

“It’ll be alright,” he tries to tell Viktor, but Viktor knows better.

He spends the rest of the way home rambling. While his lips keep ejecting word after word, Viktor wonders if this is the first time he's telling anyone the real story of how he met Yakov. He isn’t supposed to be alright with it; he’s supposed to shut his mouth and keep the secret to himself, but he’s so tired and so hurt and he needs to share it with Yuuri. Yuuri will understand.

“…So, you know, people just assume he’s a strict coach and that we drive each other up the wall all the time, but he’s so much more than that. He’s been taking care of me for sooo long, he taught me so well. Not just skating, but everything. Everything, Yuuri. There were so many things I didn’t understand, like my parents and love and friendship and why my long hair used to piss off so many people, and you know what, Yakov never judged me. He told me how things were, but he never forced me to be like this or be like that, he didn’t care who my dates were and didn’t judge my boyfriends, even though they were such jerks, Yuuri. He even put up with the federation’s nagging, even put up with my father. He handled the interviews until I learned how to answer stupid, personal questions. So, you know, why? I don’t get it. Why? Why does he hate me so much now?"

“Viktor…” Yuuri mutters the first chance he has when Viktor needs to stop to release a shaky breath.

“He got me Makkachin,did you know that?” Viktor adds as an afterthought. “He knew I needed a friend, so he got me Makkachin.”

“I’m sorry if this is somehow my fault…” Yuuri says after a few seconds and his voice cracks a little.

“It’s not.”

“But—”

“You’re worth it.”

That shuts Yuuri up. It shuts Viktor up too and he nuzzles his cheek to Yuuri’s jaw. He doses off before they reach Yu-Topia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far, thank you very much for your support! Kudos make me happy and so do comments, so please don't be afraid to leave me a little note. You can also find me on Tumblr [@glitterburg](http://glitterburg.tumblr.com) too; you're always welcomed over there as well.


	7. Rock Bottom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yakov's betrayal is the least expected and thus crushes Viktor like a wrecking ball. Depression can't be ignored or suppressed. It always finds a way out, and is seems like Viktor can't ignore his anymore either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the title suggests, Viktor is about to hit rock bottom. This is the heaviest chapter emotionally so far, and it's not pretty for the most part. It describes depression in details, and mentions vomiting and (the healthy kind of) medicine usage. If mild description of vomiting disturbs you, it's better if you skip the first scene after the flashbacks. 
> 
> There'll be also mentions of the brand Uniqlo which isn't in any connection with Yuri!!! On Ice outside this fic. I'm also talking about the movie Cloud Atlas in more details, but I promise I keep it spoiler free in case you haven't seen it yet and you're interested in it.
> 
> As you may have noticed, I downgraded the rating from Mature to Teen and Up Audiences for the time being, because even though the fic will reach the Mature (and even the Explicit) ratings in the future, it's far from there yet. This will allow a wider range of audience to read the story for now. I'll adjust it again as Viktor and Yuuri's relationship develops.

_ Viktor, 3 years old _

_Vitya knows that angels aren't visible for the human eyes; his nanny has told him many times. They’re too good and too pure to allow sinful people such as himself see them, and thus his mother can't possibly be one._

_Vitya thinks nyanya is wrong, he thinks mama can’t be anything else but an angel because her beauty leaves him with wide eyes and an open mouth and her voice matches in kindness when she talks._

_“I don’t know how I feel about this,” mama says sitting at her vanity, her hands applying a thick layer of chalky powder on her face. Her eyes are fixed on the mirror—but not on her own reflection; they're focusing on papa at the back of the room. “Vitya is too young.”_

_Vitya’s legs are dangling from the edge of the vanity where he's sitting, and he plays with the biggest and fluffiest brush mama used on her face. It smells like sweet flowers, the same scent that lingers on her cheeks when she gives him a kiss._

_Her eyes are large and they’re the exact shade of silvery grey that her hair is. With the pale powder on her face, she looks like she’s just stepped out of one of those black and white photos in the newspapers. She paints her eyelashes black and her cheeks pink, just a touch of color to her snow-white face, and Vitya thinks Larisa, his nyanya, is stupid. Larisa doesn’t know who angels are at all._

_“It’s been too long already,” papa says. “I can tell that the directors are getting less interested in you. Your name is becoming easy to forget.”_

_“Andryusha,” she sighs. “Nobody is forgetting me. Vitya is only three. He needs me.”_

_“That’s why we got Larisa, so he’ll be taken care of,” papa pushes._

_“It's not the same,” mama answers with a shake of her head._

_“Are you going away, mama?” Vitya asks. He doesn’t know what’s going on, only that Larisa is strict and never plays with him, and she teaches him how to read so she doesn’t have to read him his favorite stories._

_Mama cups Vitya’s face and plants a kiss on his nose, and he forgets to worry. When she lets go, she pulls her long, shiny hair up and arranges it into a tight bun on the back of her head._

 

_ Viktor, 3 years old _

_Vitya’s favorite memory of mama is when she would dance at home. She would turn the music on so loud he would hear it in his bedroom upstairs, put her silk shoes on, and dance like she was flying, similar to how Vitya sees the swans spreading their wings above the lake._

_He’s too small to reach the high table the gramophone is sat on, and his parents forbid him to touch it anyway… That doesn’t stop him though, his socked feet carrying him across the polished parquet floor, the best imitation of mama’s magic he can produce. He doesn’t need the music player, he can hear mama’s music well enough in his memories._

_Sometimes Larisa scolds him when she catches him and orders him back to his room, but sometimes she lets him continue. When that happens, she takes an armchair and watches him. She follows his every move with interesthich is a little intimidating, but it still makes Vitya happy. While mama and papa are away, he gets a bit lonely._

_They’re living at a place called Moscow now, a place where many people love mama and where papa can make a lot of money. They're away for so long that sometimes he has trouble remembering their faces. There's a photo album in the living-room, on the bottom shelf of a monumental hardwood bookcase, precisely left there so Vitya won't forget them easily._

_Once a month, papa comes home for a few days, but mama never does. Vitya always shares a dinner with him, the dining table heavy with the food papa likes the best: vegetable soup, followed by grilled chicken thighs with potatoes._

_“Vitya is developing a new hobby,” Larisa says, part of the extensive report she put together on his progression regarding his studies and free time activities._

_“Oh?” Papa raises his eyebrows, his eyes meeting Vitya’s for the first time since dinner started. The bright blue of them looks fairy-tale-like in the dimmed, warm light, and Vitya reminds himself that they're real because his own eyes are exact copies of them._

_“He seems to have inherited his mother’s talent.”_

_"Has he?" he asks, eyes still on him, and Vitya is now buzzing with pride hearing his nyanya’s praise._

_"Will you watch me?" he asks, so excited his voice carries a slight tremble._

_"After dinner, Vitya,” papa answers._

_Maybe if he manages to be as beautiful as mama, papa will take him too when he returns to Moscow._

 

_ Viktor, 4 years old _

_It’s Vitya’s birthday, and it’s the best birthday ever!_

_He finally gets to meet mama's friend who is going to teach him how to dance like her. He could have started sooner, papa would have liked that as well, but mama and her friend agreed that the age of three was too young. The age of four too, but exceptions may be made if Vitya shows enough talent._

_Larisa is holding his hand like always when they’re not at home, and Vitya doesn’t have time to take in the entirety of the most beautiful building he’s ever seen before they walk past the gates. Bright red bricks on the outside and white arches on the inside, heavy stone steps leading them up, floor after floor._

_The door they’re looking for has the name Lilia Baranovskaya engraved on a golden plate. Larisa knocks, and she doesn't open it without waiting for an answer like she usually does at home. For a moment, Vitya believes mama's inside. The sound of steps he hears is the same he's used to from mama, but when the door finally opens, the high-heeled shoes don’t look like any of the pairs he remembers her wearing. His heart sinks a little._

_“Madam Baranovskaya, this is—"_

_“—Viktor Nikiforov?" the lady finishes for Larisa, her voice even stricter and more authoritative than the nanny’s. She's the most beautiful woman in the world after mama. "Come in, Viktor.”_

_She takes Vitya’s free hand and tells Larisa to wait outside. She leads him in and gives him a few instructions, and Vitya follows them without a word, too intimidated by her stern face to ask questions. He removes his heavy coat and boots and puts on silky white shoes instead. They're similar to mama's but much lighter in weight._

_He stands in front of her when he’s ready and lets her inspect him. Mama told him over the phone what was going to happen, so he knows this is a test he has to pass. If he fails, Madam Baranovskaya will not want to teach him._

_"Do you like to dance, Viktor?"_

_“Yes,” he answers._

_He makes sure his back is straight like an arrow and his shoulders are properly pulled back the way Larisa likes it when he starts hunching over a book._

_"Why is that?"_

_"Because that is what angels do."_

_"Do you know what ballet is?" she asks next, her voice kinder than before._

_"The dance mama does."_

_“Have you seen her dance in the theatre?”_

_Vitya shakes his head._

_Madam Baranovskaya crouches, so her eyes are on the same level as his._

_"You have never seen a ballet," she says, not asking this time, yet Vitya finds himself shaking his head again. No, he hasn’t._

_"Do you know why your parents tell me that's what you're doing?"_

_“I don’t know,” Vitya answers. "I remember mama dancing in the living-room. They are my favorite memories.”_

_He's heard the word ‘ballet' thrown around at home, but he never knew what exactly it meant. He didn't know he was supposed to, and he doesn't want to fail Madam Baranovskaya’s test because of his lack of knowledge._

_"Why do you want to dance, Viktor?"_

_“I want to be beautiful like mama.”_

_“Well then, show me what it is you do.”_

_Vitya does, and Madam Baranovskaya finally smiles, and Larisa receives a timetable and a list of things they need to buy before his class tomorrow._

 

_ Viktor, 4 years old _

_Olga is older than Larisa was, but less strict. She looks surprised when she realizes that Vitya knows how to read and can even write. She takes him to Madam Baranovskaya’s classes in the afternoons, and sometimes she forgets to pick him up later._

_Vitya doesn’t know why that is. Madam Baranovskaya chases her on the phone when she doesn’t turn up, and most of the time she sounds annoyed and snappy. When it happens, she takes him to her own house and promises to have a word or two with his parents later. Vitya is never included in those conversations so he has little idea of what’s going on. The madam’s house is even larger than Vitya’s and looks like a museum. He likes it there._

_Today is one of those evenings when Madam Baranovskaya smashes the receiver so hard that Vitya jumps in the cushioned chair in her office. She tells him they're going to have some fun together outside the dance school and Vitya’s eyes sparkle in delight; He’s doesn’t think he’s ever been out just for the sake of having fun._

_"Where are we going?" he asks while she helps him wrap his scarf around his neck. He’s almost five, but he still can't knot his scarf to cover his neck neatly._

_“There are many types of dances in this world, Viktor, and some of them aren’t performed on the floor.”_

_Then where? He wants to ask, but Madam Baranovskaya dislikes questions, so he contents himself with what little information she already gave. They aren’t getting into a car, which would be the norm with Olga; instead, they turn onto a street which Vitya never explored before._

_Her hand is warm around his as they walk the streets and they don’t stop until they reach a glass building with a blue front at the river bank. The large, golden letters above the entrance read ‘Sports Champions Club’. Vitya can see the lights through the wall of windows but can’t make out what’s inside before he’s being pulled through the doors._

_"Do you know how to ice skate, Viktor?" she asks as they approach the reception. A girl sits there with a suspicious number of black shoes behind her back._

_Vitya shakes his head. He knows what it is from one of the bedtime stories he likes, but he doesn't have an idea of what it looks like apart from what the hand-drawn illustrations on the pages allow him to see._

_“How about we surprise Mr. Feltsman then?” she suggests, and she winks, and Vitya smiles back shyly. He has never seen Madam Baranovskaya anything but serious. He doesn’t know who Mr. Feltsman is, but he must be an important person if his ballet teacher likes him._

_She’s having a small chat with the girl who guards the shoes, and Vitya receives a pair shortly. Then she takes him further inside the building and before Vitya knows it, he’s staring at the hugest expanse of ice he has ever seen. He clutches his plastic shoes while he watches bigger kids and adults dance on it, with nothing but a pair of thin blades that now he realizes his shoes have as well._

_“They’re dancing!” he exclaims, and he feels Madam Baranovskaya’s hand on the top of his head in answer._

_“Yakov!" she shouts, and her voice is like a thunder in the gigantic room._

_The man approaching them looks old like Olga. He has long, brown hair, and a face that promises to be as strict as his ballet teacher’s._

_“Lilia,” he says, and then his eyes wander to Vitya._

_“This is Viktor.” Her introduction is brief and Yakov’s strict eyes suddenly turn to study his face. Vitya is too intimidated to remember how to say hello like a polite boy._

_"It's too late. I’m doing private lessons only in the evenings.”_

_"Just let him try," Lilia tells him. "He won't disturb your skaters."_

_"Is this the boy you've been telling me about?"_

_Lilia and mama have a lot in common, not just ballet, Vitya decides. He watches her convince Mr. Feltsman to do as she wants exactly the way mama usually convinces papa: with a charming voice and her hand on his arm._

_“Stay close to the boards." Mr. Feltsman turns back to Vitya. "And keep away from the rest of the children.”_

_“Yes, sir!” Vitya agrees to the conditions happily, his excitement growing ten times bigger now that he's sitting on the bench and tying his skates as tightly as he can. Madam Baranovskaya checks his work before she lets him near the swinging door that leads to the ice._

_If Vitya thought ballet felt like flying, then what is gliding on thin blades on the ice? He’s flying faster and higher than when he’s running! He turns and looks back at the two adults watching him silently._

_"I don’t know what to do," he confesses. He holds his hands out in hope that someone will come and take them, like how Olga does, or Larisa did before her, or mama did before Larisa. But no one is coming now._

_“Show me how far you can go. Stay next to the boards,” Mr. Feltsman says._

_Vitya does his best. It’s scary at first because his feet are slipping out from under him, but he catches himself every time he’s about to fall. He gets used to the strange, slippery surface quickly, and he has a lot more confidence by the time he completes a full circle a few minutes later._

_“Lilia tells me you’re the best in your dance class.” Vitya looks at Madam Baranovskaya for confirmation and imitates her nod. “Do you think you can do ballet on the ice?”_

_“Look at that girl, Viktor,” Madam Baranovskaya says, pointing at a girl in the middle of a dizzying spin. She’s standing on one foot, one leg straight, the other pulled up and bent at the knee. Just like in ballet. Her arms are above her head, a perfect arch. “Imitate her like you do with your mother.”_

_And Viktor does. He falls and stands up, tries again, falls a few more times, but gets it right in the end. Then Madam Baranovskaya points at someone else and Vitya tries to copy them as well, and in the middle of the drill, it starts to feel like this is another test._

 

* * *

 

 Viktor wakes to the sound of silence that feels heavy pressing on his eardrums. There isn’t a sound in the room except for his own ragged breaths, coming out in strong pained bursts because his stomach feels like it’s ready to explode.

He gets out of bed blindly and makes his way to the bathroom as fast as he can on unsteady legs, locking himself in the tiny room and dropping in front of the toilet bowl.

He doesn’t know how long he stays there. He isn’t proud of how he got wasted at Minako’s bar yesterday, but he also knows he wouldn't feel half this sick if his stomach wasn't already acting up. He felt this awful only once, four years ago, and Roman had no other choice but to give him painkiller in the form of an injection because nothing else worked. It was strong stuff that almost knocked him out completely, but he felt so much better after he came back around. His rink doctor from St Petersburg isn’t around anymore though, and without a better solution, Viktor leans back over the toilet bowl and rests his forehead on the seat, too sick to care about the lack of hygiene.

When he’s almost sure there’s nothing left in his stomach that could come back up, he peels his sticky, sweaty clothes he's been wearing since yesterday off and sits on the tiny stool in the shower. He keeps his head down, prepared just in case, and washes himself and his hair as hurriedly as he can. He wraps himself up in a large towel, brushes his teeth to get rid of the awful taste of bile, and drinks from the tap until the gulps he takes stop scratching his throat. He fights through the heavy haze still settled in his head and manages not to fall down before he reaches his room.

He only notices now that Yuuri’s sitting curled up on one of the sofas, his knees under his chin and his arms around them, and his glasses hanging on the tip of his nose. He looks peaceful, sleeping like that. Viktor collapses on his bed, pulls the heavy duvet over his shaking body, and buries his face in Makkachin’s fur. He feels slightly better, but he has no idea what to expect later without medicine on hand.

 

* * *

 

The next time he wakes, he hears soft Japanese murmurs not too far from his bed. He recognizes the voice right away, he always would, anywhere in the world: it's Yuuri's. Makkachin has left Viktor’s bed at one point while he was sleeping, and he’s lying stretched out on the sofa with his head in Yuuri’s lap, Yuuri too busy mumbling to him and reading what looks like one of Viktor’s books.

“Yuuri…?” He says in a scratchy voice. He clears his throat and tries again.

“Hi,” Yuuri answers quietly and closes the book. He leaves it on the shelf on his right-hand side. “I got you some water, over there.”

Viktor turns his head to where Yuuri’s pointing and sure enough there’s a glass filled with water there. His mouth and tongue feel parched like he's just been extracted from a desert, and he drinks until the glass is empty. It stretches his stomach uncomfortably and he can barely suppress the pained moan as he lies back down.

"Thank you," he says. "How come you’re here?"

Yuuri averts his eyes from him, focusing on Makkachin’s fluffy head instead.

“Umm… I don’t think you remember because you were practically half-asleep, but when I put you to bed last night, you… asked me to stay.”

“Oh…”

Viktor remembers what happened, remembers too well if you want his opinion, but the last thing he can recall is dozing against the nape of Yuuri’s neck on the way home.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, “for staying.”

“No problem,” Yuuri answers with a slight smile.

"Ah, I was ridiculous yesterday," Viktor says with a sigh and a small chuckle, lying on his back and throwing an arm over his forehead.

“No,” Yuuri protests, sitting up straighter. "You weren't." 

Viktor hums. He stretches a hand out towards Yuuri, inviting.

“Did you spend the entire night on that uncomfortable sofa?” He asks. He remembers seeing him upon returning from the bathroom earlier, curled in on himself in a less than merciful position.

“O-Of course!” Yuuri answers as if even the thought of sleeping somewhere else was scandalous. 

Viktor feels the slightest of smiles creeping onto his lips. He bends his fingers and indicates for him to come closer.

“Come here,” he says it out loud when Yuuri’s just staring at his hand, clueless.

Yuuri does and sits on the very edge of the bed, and Viktor thinks if he’s a few millimeters further from him he’ll fall off the mattress. He tugs on Yuuri’s arm until he's lying awkwardly next to him, on top of the duvet he’s tucked under.

“Viktor…” he says. His voice is slightly startled, and so is his face.

“What am I going to do if my skater pulls his back sleeping on that sofa?”

Finally, Yuuri smiles. Viktor closes his eyes and opens them only when Yuuri starts speaking. He can’t tell how much time passed, but he probably dozed off if he’s so unsure about it. He’s still holding onto Yuuri’s arm though.

“How are you feeling…?” His voice is barely a whisper. His eyes are so soft and so concerned it makes Viktor’s insides clench. He removed his glasses at one point, so he can lay more comfortably on his side. “Is it just an awful hangover? I can completely sympathize with that because I know what it is like, or are you actually… ill? Mom never figured out what’s wrong with your stomach…”

“It’s not serious,” Viktor assures him. “It’s under control. Or well… used to be. The rink doctor back in St Peterburg administers special painkillers when I get like this, but I don’t have them here with me.”

“But are you ill?” Yuuri presses and the concern draws deeper lines between his eyebrows.

“No,” Viktor says. “This seems to only happen when I worry too much.”

“Oh…” Yuuri darts his eyes. Before he can think that it has something to do with him, Viktor quickly adds,

“There are some things happening in Russia right now that worry me more than they should.”

“Like the situation with your coach…? Yuuri asks timidly.

“Yeah, like that situation…”

“I’m so sorry…”

“Not your fault.”

A déjà vu feeling is creeping up on Viktor from last night when Yuuri apologized for the same thing. He moves his fingers from Yuuri’s arm to his hand and brings it up to his face, presses it against his cheek and closes his eyes.

Makka joins them on the mattress soon, fitting himself in the slight space between their bodies as they stay facing each other.

 

* * *

 

The smell of food wakes him up the next time. There’s quiet, murmuring conversation coming from close by. Yuuri is still on the bed with him although sitting up now, and Hiroko is standing next to him with a large tray in her hands. Viktor can understand enough to know the lady's bringing the dinner up to their room. She’s asking if they’re hungry, asking what's wrong with Viktor, and asking if Yuuri could get Viktor to eat something because he apparently hasn’t eaten since yesterday morning.

Viktor keeps his eyes closed and remains unmoving until she settles the tray of food on the coffee table, beckons Makka to her side, and closes the door behind them to let the poodle out into the garden.

Yuuri’s eyes look red and puffy and tired when he looks at him finally, and Viktor doesn’t think he imagines it in the semi-darkness of the room. His heart aches dully and he tries to pull himself together for his sake, but he can't… It's like when you scoop up sand and keep your hands cupped as you lift it, but no matter how tight you press your fingers together with the sand, it still escapes. That's how energy slips away from Viktor. He doesn't have enough left to appear normal in front of Yuuri.

“Thirsty?” Yuuri asks, and Viktor realizes that he’s very, very, very thirsty indeed…

He downs the entire glass in one go and Yuuri gets out of bed to refill it. Viktor uses the opportunity to put on the first shirt and pants he finds in his closet when he realizes he fainted on his bed wrapped in a towel after the shower earlier…

Every movement takes extra effort. His limbs are heavy, and his stomach is doing quadruple flips, bumping into his ribcage and pushing uncomfortably against it all the time.

He collapses ungracefully in front of the short table. He can't tell from the sharp pain that shoots through him whether he's hungry or not, but Hiroko made sure to bring enough food for two people, and only things she knows Viktor's able to eat: bowls of rice, boiled potatoes, and vegetable soup, plus Yuuri’s salad…

"Mom says the soup would be the best to eat if you're sick," Yuuri says as he re-enters the room and settles on the other side of the table. "But she also knows you need to take it easy on that one. She didn't put any spices in it, so it might taste a little bland. No noodles either."

“That’s very nice of her,” Viktor says softly. She might be the nicest person he’s ever met.

“She’s worried,” Yuuri says with a gesture that falls somewhere between a nod and a shrug. “She also… umm… got this.”

He pushes a small box towards Viktor, white with columns of small black kanji printed across it. Viktor can’t read it, but he suspects what it might be and Yuuri confirms it.

“I’m so sorry, but… I sort of told mom what’s happening to you. We know this doctor, a friend really, I used to see her a lot before I moved to Detroit.” Yuuri is rambling and avoiding Viktor's eyes. "I'm so sorry. I called her and I tried to explain your... umm, condition. Mom picked these painkillers up, but… uhh… she said she’d be glad to see you if you… decided you wanted to talk to someone. I mean, you don’t need to go if you don’t want to, and I’m so sorry I exposed you like this, but… I couldn’t watch you hurting if there’s something I could do to help.”

“Thank you, Yuuri,” Viktor mumbles.

Yuuri’s clearly in distress because of him, and the least he can do is thank him properly. Even if he isn’t sure if he wants to actually see a doctor. He trusts Roman, and he’s about the only doctor he’s ever trusted.

“What sort of doctor…?” He asks.

“A… hah… A psychologist."

Oh.

Viktor’s heart trembles.

"Why did you need a psychologist?" He asks because it's easier to steer the conversation to Yuuri's troubles than to focus on his own.

“I was looking for ways to cope with my nerves during competitions. And also, to improve my confidence.”

“Did therapy help?”

Yuuri shrugs. “The doctor taught me a few things that are useful and that help me cope, but…" Another shrug. "I mean, look at me," he says in the end, nervously laughing as if to subconsciously emphasize a message he’s reluctant to say. “I saw her once after I came back to Hasetsu too.”

Viktor silently nods. He reaches for the bowl of potatoes and takes the fresh glass of water that Yuuri brought. He pops a cube into his mouth and chews it thoroughly before carefully swallowing it. His stomach doesn't feel worse a minute later, so he risks another, chewing it until it becomes mash in his mouth. 

Yuuri takes one of the two bowls of soups, then picks at his salad. Viktor dares himself to try a bit of it too. He remembers how, a lifetime ago, his mother always fed him the same thing when he was sick. He quickly pushes that memory out of his mind before it can settle deeper.

He doesn’t finish either of the bowls, but he considers keeping the food he did eat down an accomplishment. Nausea is sitting heavily in his throat, a continuous threat that he isn’t able to forget, but the medicine that Yuuri describes as painkiller helps a little. It has the side effect of making him sleepy very quickly though.

He excuses himself from the table and crawls back into bed. If Hiroko comes back to retrieve the tray of leftover dinner, Viktor doesn’t hear it.

 

* * *

 

The room is completely dark when he wakes up. He's feeling incredibly hot, so he tries to kick the thick duvet off himself, but it's stuck because Yuuri’s lying on top of it. He gets out of bed as silently as he can and makes his way to the bathroom on steadier legs than any time in the past twenty-four hours.

He washes his face with cold water and avoids looking at his image in the mirror. He knows he must not look the most flattering right now, and although it’s the least of his concerns regarding his health, it’s still not something he wants to see. He stays in the vicinity of the toilet bowl, sitting with his back pressed against the cold, tiled wall next to it, and the threatening lump in his throat remains there, unmoving.

He snatches a fluffy blanket from the closet when he gets back to his room and carefully covers Yuuri. He must have left the room after Viktor fell asleep because he's wearing a different set of clothes: comfy pants and a long-sleeved top. His hair looks messy and slightly wet from the shower or the bath he must have taken.

Makkachin is following him with his eyes from where he’s sprawled on the sofa. Viktor finds the glass of water that Yuuri must have left out for him and drinks, swallows a pill too. He climbs back to bed, careful again not to wake Yuuri, settles under the duvet and watches his skater’s peaceful, sleeping face until it’s impossible to keep his eyes open.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri promised that he would stay by Viktor's side and he really doesn't seem like he considers leaving, not even the next morning when he wakes earlier than Viktor. He’s reading the book from the other day, one of the few English ones Viktor has, with his back against the headboard.

“Good morning,” he says quietly when he sees Viktor stir and open his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

Viktor takes a breath and contemplates the answer. Although his stomach is still aching, it feels like it's getting better. He puts his thoughts into words and Yuuri seems relieved by his answer.

“I’m glad,” he sighs, and he sounds so honest Viktor can’t help the tiny smile curving the corner of his lips gently upwards.

Makkachin pads over to the bed and hops on, as if on cue, realizing that Viktor's awake and hopefully ready to pay some attention to him. He scratches behind the poodle's ear and he melts into the touch, flopping down on top of Viktor’s thighs, content with his life.

“I feel guilty for skipping training yesterday…” Yuuri confesses, putting the book down after finishing the page he’s been on.

“Let’s not tell your coach,” Viktor suggests. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“If you say so,” Yuuri sighs. It’s a lot easier to convince him it’s fine to be a little lazy than Viktor initially thought.

“How about you spend today figuring out what music you want for your free skate?” he suggests.

“Actually…” Yuuri starts, and he has that look on his face that tells Viktor he’s done something he doesn’t know whether he will approve of or not. "Remember that piece I showed you, the one Celestino was talking about?”

“Yes,” Viktor nods, beckoning him to go on.

“I commissioned a friend at college to write it originally. So… umm, I messaged her and asked if she’d consider redoing it.”

“Really?!” Viktor sits up, so he can look him in the eyes better. “That’s fantastic! You didn’t tell me it was music especially written for you before.”

Yuuri shrugs nonchalantly. “Yes… I always wanted to try that. In hindsight, it kind of backfired.”

“Why?”

“Well… I wanted something that’d reflect on my life as a competitive skater. She did a great job adapting the details of my career I gave her… a rather bland career.”

Viktor presses his lips together, having several ideas what to answer and knowing neither of them is what Yuuri wants to hear. He needs to stop dismissing himself like this, like it's a well-known, accepted fact that he isn’t talented, when in reality he’s the only person who sees himself that way.

“Anyway, I put together a list of songs, but I was wondering if we could wait for her answer first before I show you the list."

“Of course, Yuuri.”

Yuuri smiles and looks away. Viktor follows his gaze; as he looks around, he can see what he wasn't able to notice before, too consumed by the sickness: that Yuuri moved several things from his own room to Viktor’s, including his phone charger, laptop, earphones, and what looks like some kind of video gaming device, barely bigger than his phone.

Viktor wants to hug him.

“Let’s go down for breakfast,” he says instead.

Yuuri smiles back at him sheepishly. "Please don't," he replies. "Mom will kill me if he sees you downstairs. Or well, outside the bed, really."

“So you’re my babysitter,” Viktor says with a pleasant tint in his voice, to steer his thoughts away from the memory of how nice it feels to hug Yuuri. "I used to have a few of them back home." He muses. He stretches out on his back again. Makkachin has enough of Viktor squirming around and changes pillows; he’s using Yuuri’s leg to prop his head on now.

“I’ll bring up the breakfast,” Yuuri sputters and gets up before Makka can get too comfy on top of him. “Sorry, Makka.” He pats the poodle’s head before he trots out of the room.

Makka looks at Viktor slightly offended, like he's someone who is fully privileged to access motionless human pillows at all times.

“You’re so spoiled,” Viktor tells him and the poodle yaps in agreement. “Do you want to stretch your legs?”

Viktor climbs out of bed. He might have overestimated his wellbeing earlier… His legs wobble under his weight, but he manages to slide the door open and let Makkachin out. He presses his forehead against the wooden edge of the door. What’s gotten into him? The stomach ache doesn’t explain why he’s feeling so faint… He doesn’t think he’s coming down with sickness, but something doesn’t feel right.

Maybe a quick shower would help. If nothing else, he’d at least feel clean. He grabs a fresh set of comfortable clothes and cautiously makes his way down the stairs to the bathroom and locks himself in. He avoids looking in the mirror the entire time. He goes through the motions of cleaning up automatically, brain forced to remain empty.

Yuuri’s back in his room by the time Viktor’s finished, portions of plain rice, boiled potatoes, and more of the vegetable soup laid out on the coffee table once again. There’re cups of teas as well, green for Yuuri and herbal for Viktor.

“I think I won’t be a very entertaining company today either,” Viktor says when they’re halfway through the breakfast.

“I don’t mind,” Yuuri answers, determined and confident in a way Viktor isn't used to hearing him. "We can watch a movie maybe?"

"That sounds fun," Viktor answers.

He takes a painkiller when he can’t fit any more food in himself and observes Yuuri finishing his share. He looks uncharacteristically serious, with the soft lines of his lovely face hardening and his large, communicative eyes sunk under the weight of his thoughts.

“Would you like to watch my favorite movie?” He asks softly after Viktor directs his gaze back to his food.

 “I’d love that,” he answers in his softest voice.

“It’s pretty long though, and I’ll probably cry.”

“It’s the movie with the beautiful soundtrack, right? The one I like?"

“Y-Yeah…”

“What is it about?”

“It’s a little complicated to explain, but… umm. It’s a little strange and it’s better to watch more than once to understand it completely. Anyway… It's about how the same souls meet over and over again in different lifetimes. It's about reincarnation, and fate, and love, and soulmates, and things like that. If you believe in that kind of stuff, then it's really… worth watching it. It’s really well done. Most actors play multiple roles and it’s fun when you recognize them behind the make-up and figure out the connections between their characters.”

The bed is the most obvious place to watch it. Viktor slips under the duvet and Yuuri wraps Viktor’s fluffy blanket around himself, and they settle with Yuuri’s laptop between them.

The beginning is promising… As far as Viktor can tell because he's back to sleep after ten minutes.

 

* * *

 

It seems like the weeks worth of sleepless nights have finally caught up with Viktor. He doesn’t understand how it’s possible to sleep as much as he does now, but that's all he's been doing recently. He understands even less why he still feels so groggy when he’s supposed to be fresh and with a spring in his step.

From the noise seeping through the walls from downstairs, Viktor can tell lunchtime hasn’t ended yet in the restaurant. Yuuri’s sleeping soundly beside him. The laptop is closed, but it still separates them, and as much as Viktor wishes he could switch places with it, he refuses to move it somewhere else.

Watching Yuuri’s peaceful, relaxed face is enough, Viktor tells himself. He's got to burn this image in his memory because Yuuri will be back to his own room soon.

He carefully turns on his back and watches the sunlight play on the walls, bright and then dim, then bright again as clouds swim past. He feels his heart pumping in his chest and he closes his eyes, concentrates on it. It's strange how reassuring it is, a reminder that he's alive.

It doesn’t matter how empty he feels inside as long as he has a heart that beats.

 

* * *

 

The next time Viktor wakes up, the bed is empty next to him. It's significantly quieter than before, and if the orange tint of his walls is anything to go by, the sun is setting. He turns on his side and burrows his face in the tight space between his and Yuuri’s pillow, pulls the blanket over his head, and brings his knees up to his chest. He squeezes his eyes close.

He shouldn’t be down like this. His stomach ache has dulled to the uncomfortable throb it was before he visited Minako’s bar, and his nausea is gone, which means he isn’t sick anymore. It’s time to get on with life. Time to show Hiroko that he’s healthy enough and thank her for the loving care she provided.

And yet…

He can’t.

It feels like he lost something precious, something irreplaceable, and he feels so incredibly hollow without it that he can’t even bring himself to get out of bed anymore.

Yakov’s gone. Yakov doesn’t want him unless he’s Russia’s splendid champion. Is this what their relationship has been about all along? Yakov playing the role of whatever Viktor needed him to be to become the best in the world, and then to keep that title?

Is there really no one he can trust? If he can’t trust Yakov, then who can he trust?

The door to his room slides open slowly, silently. Viktor hears four small feet pad across the floor and jump on the bed. Two paws prop up on his backside where he's bending in on himself, then Makka settles on top of him, a similarly curled ball.

“No!!! Come here!” It’s Yuuri. He’s whisper-shouting at Makka, which is almost as adorable as the poodle himself. “Let Viktor sleep!”

“It’s alright…” Viktor mumbles. “Let him stay.”

“I didn’t want to wake you…”

“It’s okay,” Viktor repeats. “I wasn’t sleeping…”

“Oh… Okay.”

He can feel the mattress dip on the side which became Yuuri’s recently. He reluctantly pulls the duvet off his head and meets the soft look adorning the skater’s face.

“Do you feel like having dinner soon?” Yuuri asks gently.

Viktor isn’t hungry, but he knows he needs to eat something, so he nods. Yuuri looks like he’s about to touch Viktor’s face with his hand lifted and paused in mid-air like that, but then he furrows his eyebrows and scratches Makka under his ear instead.

“I’ll tell mom. Potatoes and soup?”

“Sounds like a dream,” Viktor answers, not feeling enthusiastic at all.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” Yuuri says and slips outside again.

Viktor lets out the breath he’s been holding and tries to actively find his phone for the first time in days. It’s on the bedside table after he turns around and Makkachin inevitably rolls off him. It's run out of power, so he plugs it in and watches the battery icon light up in the middle of the screen. It'll be a few minutes until it charges enough to use it, so he watches it slowly return back to life. He wonders absentmindedly if there'll be any messages waiting for him, but luckily no surprise is waiting apart from one single email. It was sent from a Japanese address he doesn’t remember seeing before.

The fashion brand Uniqlo wants to team up with Yuuri and him. Not just Yuuri, they specifically want both of them to model for their upcoming campaign. They’re eager to set up a meeting as soon as possible, so they can discuss the terms and conditions. They’ll set up the photoshoot on the day and at the time they agree on at the meeting, and they'll very gladly gift them every piece of clothing appearing in their ads.

A small smile creeps on Viktor’s lips. This is no comfort shopping, but even the prospect of new clothes makes him feel a little excited. He misses the extensive wardrobe he left in St Petersburg; he doesn’t really wear anything other than his comfortable work-out outfits these days. Besides, looking at what Yuuri’s been wearing, he desperately needs a wardrobe update too.

The most important prospect of the contract is the money they'd be getting for signing it, of course. There are no numbers indicated in the email, but Uniqlo is a world-famous brand, and Viktor more or less knows how much would be an appropriate offer from a company their size.

He’ll speak about it with Yuuri. This deal can possibly solve any financial problem he’d face as soon as the season starts.

He spends the rest of the time on Instagram, scrolling through the hundreds of photos the people he follows posted. He slows down when he notices a familiar face, hits the little heart to like a few of them, but it's just to pass time. He isn't really interested.

When Yuuri returns, he’s with Hiroko. Her smiling face is familiar and reassuring at the same time, and Viktor climbs out of bed to join her and Yuuri at the low table. She rests a hand on his shoulder when she’s done setting it up.

“Vicchan, how are you? Is medicine good?”

"Very good, thank you," Viktor answers softly. "Thank you for getting them to me."

“I’m happy,” Hiroko says, eyes kind as ever. “You need something you tell, yes?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Viktor goes through the same notions as yesterday: pulls the bowl of potatoes closer to himself, picks them up one by one, and chews them thoroughly to make digesting as easy as possible. He sips from the soup and even tries a few pieces of carrots and parsnip… Yuuri and Hiroko are in soft conversation; it’s in Japanese and Viktor ignores it until it becomes an incomprehensible buzz in the back of his mind.

His stomach becomes heavy fast, so he slows down even more. He realizes he's been staring at a piece of carrot for minutes only when Hiroko's hand, the one still resting on his shoulder, squeezes lightly.

“What you think, Vicchan?”

“Hm?” Viktor lifts his gaze to meet Hiroko’s kind eyes.

“Tomorrow eat my chicken?"

“Cooked chicken,” Yuuri elaborates. “Nothing heavy or anything… Just what I’m having with my salad now.”

“Sounds good,” Viktor answers. He hopes he’s smiling.

“For breakfast,” Hiroko decides.

She brews his herbal tea freshly, and it’s burning hot when he receives it. He takes his medication with it. Yuuri’s drinking a cup of matcha, and even Makkachin gets some water in a bowl when he becomes too curious about the food on the table.

Hiroko starts packing up when both he and Yuuri are done eating and hushes Viktor when he offers help.

“Shall we try to finish the movie?” Yuuri suggests after his mother wishes goodnight and leaves with Makka at her heel.

Yuuri returns to his own room briefly to grab a new set of clothes and have a quick shower. The call of the bed is too strong and Viktor can't resist, and he finds himself under the covers even before Yuuri pads down the corridor in the bathroom’s direction. He isn’t as drowsy as he was in the morning, but he still feels exhausted and like he’s in desperate need to catch up on sleep.

He arranges his pillows, so they'll be comfortable enough behind their backs sitting up; he doesn't trust that he'll stay awake if he lays down. He pulls up the corner of the duvet when Yuuri comes back and reaches for the fluffy but thinner blanket, and he crawls in under after a few seconds of hesitation.

“Is this alright?” Viktor asks, and he isn’t sure whether he means the comfort of the pillows or sharing a duvet.

Yuuri nods and Viktor never finds out whichever he thinks he was asked either, and they balance the laptop on their knees.

He spends the next three hours wide awake, barely even blinking. He can't tear his eyes away from the screen. Yuuri’s little comments, usually clues helping him recognize the actors behind the heavy make-up and connect them in the messy timeline, only barely register in his mind.

Yuuri spends the last half an hour quietly sniffing, just as he warned him beforehand, but Viktor doesn't look. He's overwhelmed by both thoughts and emotions, sadness and hope and questions. _So many questions_. He doesn’t realize when the movie ends, only when Yuuri touches his arm and asks,

“Are you alright?" in his quiet, timid voice.

“Fine,” he answers, but his voice isn’t as strong as he’d like it to be.

He's grateful that they didn't leave any lights on. He keeps his eyes sternly on the screen while the end credits run, the gorgeous music that enchants Viktor playing in the silence that stretches between them.

“This is it,” Yuuri says then, removing his hand from Viktor’s arm. “My favorite movie.”

“Why is it your favorite?” Viktor asks, barely above a whisper, before he can stop himself.

Yuuri stares at the screen for a few moments, contemplating his answer, before he says anything.

"It gives me hope," he says in the end. "Somehow it makes me feel better thinking we have more than one chance at this," he's motioning at himself, his entire body, with his hand. "At life. That even if I screw it up this time, I'll get to try again. And that it doesn't matter how unmemorable I am. If something like a soulmate really exists, they'll remember me anyway.”

They fall back into silence, and he can tell that Yuuri’s looking at him now. Viktor thinks of his parents who can't love him unconditionally, thinks of Yakov who threw more than twenty years away like it never meant a thing, thinks of Yuuri who has spent the better half of his life trying to catch up to Viktor, thinks of Hiroko who showed him nothing but love since the moment he set foot in Yu-Topia…

“Are you alright…?” Yuuri asks again, sounding even gentler than before.

Viktor imagines a life where he isn’t a five times world champion. A life where he’s a gardener, or a lawyer, or a chef, or a fisherman who sells shrimp down the street in the mornings, a life where Makkachin isn’t a dog but his handsome husband, where becoming a figure skater makes as little sense as becoming a car racer or a football player.

“It's okay…" Yuuri murmurs, and there's a hand on Victor's arm again, pulling on him.

It’s a hug, Viktor realizes belatedly, and he brings his arms up to link them around Yuuri’s shoulders in return. He breathes. It feels like he hasn’t been breathing since the movie started, so he breathes now. He can smell Yuuri’s shower gel, a faint scent of mint and lime and flowers. He focuses on that, and the way Yuuri’s arms tighten around him, their fronts pressing together. There's one hand on the small of his back and another between his shoulder blades.

Yuuri’s right. Even if this lifetime sucks, if there's another waiting for him, it doesn't necessarily have to suck as well.

“I could fall asleep like this,” he murmurs to himself, barely registering that he's saying it out loud.

Yuuri nods against his shoulder where he’s resting his chin.

"We can t-try that," he says softly, stumbling on a word only once.

“Really…?” Viktor asks as he reluctantly removes himself from the embrace.

Yuuri doesn't look him in the eyes when he says, "Yeah..."

Yuuri’s eyes are shy about it, but after they make themselves comfy in the bed, he leaves an arm outstretched, and Viktor eases his head on it. He rests an arm on Yuuri’s waist and feels him do the same. It's awkward at first; Viktor feels super conscious of every inch of his body and he can tell all of Yuuri’s muscles are taut too. They relax, eventually, and Viktor scoots closer, his head slipping off Yuuri’s arm as he curls his neck to bury his face into his collarbones. He thinks he can feel a shaky breath escaping Yuuri. His own follows his.

“Can I…?" Yuuri murmurs, the arm that’s still stretched on the pillow now bending, fingers touching Viktor’s hair.

“Yeah…” he murmurs the answer and focuses on how nice it feels when Yuuri’s fingers sink deeper into it, playing with the silky locks.

The more he thinks about the movie, the less tragic his life feels.

“Maybe in my next life, I’ll be Yakov’s coach,” he says.

“Maybe in your next life, you’ll be his accountant. Imagine the _power_.”

“I’ll be his son. I’ll make his life miserable.”

“Maybe Yurio will be your brother. That would be a nightmare.”

"Maybe he'll never grow hair on his head."

“Maybe he’ll be the ugliest prima ballerina in the world.”

“Or he’ll be a clown.”

"Or he'll work in the zoo scooping elephant poop."

“Oh god, _I’d pay_ to see him do that.”

Yuuri bursts out laughing.

"Tell me how that would be?" he says when he's able to control his laughter, and Viktor does.

The detailed description of the elephant house and Yakov’s uniform and equipment turn into a rant, and Viktor's already well into it by the time he realizes just how angry he's been with the man the entire time. Yuuri spurs him to continue, softly humming every time Viktor stops to take a breath; Viktor won’t remember half of what he says, but every spoken word leaves his chest feeling lighter.

 

* * *

 

 Morning finds Viktor waking in the same position he fell asleep in. Yuuri’s lying on his back and his hand slipped from Viktor’s hair to his back, and it feels so comfy and so natural that for a few minutes he tries to will himself back to sleep.

It doesn't happen, and it doesn't feel right to like being so close to Yuuri without his specific approval, so he carefully rolls out of the comfort of the embrace and gets up. He's in need of a shower, and he’s in an even more desperate need to shave. And to stretch his limbs too. He's feeling a lot better today; he doesn't know if it's a permanent feeling or something fleeting, so he wants to spend the time usefully.

Yuuri’s browsing on his phone when he gets back fifteen minutes later.

"Good morning," Viktor says and Yuuri looks up, the flush spreading on his cheeks pale and beautiful.

“Good morning,” he replies. “You… look like you’re feeling better today.”

“It seems I do," Viktor says confirming it.

He feels several stones lighter, and that he’s finally able to think straight again. He can feel his stomach still, but… but at least he's somewhat alive now. It's such a relieving feeling and he can't help holding a hand out to help Yuuri get out of bed.

"Do you mind if I hug you one last time?"

Yuuri smiles at him encouragingly so Viktor does, enveloping him in a hug that he never wants to forget. It’s the best feeling when Yuuri’s hands lock around his waist and he rests his face on his shoulder, breath ticking Viktor’s neck.

“You can hug me any time you need to,” he says in that sweet, quiet, shy voice. Viktor squeezes him tighter.

They have breakfast in his room again, but Viktor swears it’s the last time they are staying there instead of where they’re supposed to eat: in the family room or in the restaurant. He shows Yuuri the email he received from Uniqlo and discusses the details while eating.

Yuuri is stunned with disbelief, shock spreading on his face and paling into a worrisome greenish color when Viktor confirms the number of zeros that would show on their individual paychecks.

“It’s an estimation, of course, based on similar brands I worked with before,” he adds, but it doesn’t put the healthy color back on Yuuri’s face.

“Are you sure they want me?” He ends up asking for the third time. “Can I see that message again?”

“Yuuri…” Viktor sighs, resigned, as he hands his phone over to him.

“I know, it’s just that… Nobody offered me anything like this before.”

“So will you say yes?”

“Ye-Yeah! I mean, this is more money than what I had combined in my entire life!”

Viktor smiles. Yuuri will get used to this one day, probably.

“What will I need to do? I mean, what’s in a contract like this usually? With Mizuno, I just need to make sure I always wear their clothes when I’m training, and at competitions…”

"It's more or less the same with these guys," Viktor says. "We'll do some photos, get some nice clothes, and we'll wear them where people can see us. Well, you, mostly."

"But they say the contract is for the both of us...?"

“I’m already engaged with other brands,” Viktor answers. “So my priority is with them, but of course I’ll come to an agreement with Uniqlo that benefits both them and myself.”

“But will I have to wear their clothes every time I’m not training?”

"Yes," Viktor replies with a smile. "No offense, Yuuri, but your wardrobe could do with some improvement. This brand offers sporty yet elegant fashion which is perfect for you for the time being.”

"F-For the time being?" Yuuri looks horrified.

"Well, obviously. Ideally, I'd like to have you on designer labels such as Dolce & Gabbana and Louis Vitton. You’d look stunning in a Balmain blazer too. Imagine!"

The chopstick remains unmoving in Yuuri’s hand while he gapes at his coach.

“I’ll answer the message while you’re out training, see what exactly they have in mind for us.”

“Okay…” Yuuri says with a shy nod. “Are you sure it’s a good idea for me to leave you alone?”

"I'm feeling better," Viktor assures him. "I’ll be alright on my own."

Yuuri nods again, more confident this time.

He gets ready for the usual morning run and a session at the Ice Castle later, taking Makkachin with him. Viktor drafts a response to the clothing brand, agreeing to meet them and requesting possible dates to choose from. He mentions that it would be best if they could arrange to meet either in Hasetsu or in Fukuoka.

Viktor's still a little sluggish so he keeps to his room. He pulls out his Japanese books and concentrates on studying a bit, varying between that and Buzzfeed videos on Youtube. He moves to the bed around noon, when he realizes his eyes are starting to droop. He wakes up only when Yuuri returns close to sunset and freshly showered.

 

* * *

 

The medicines Yuuri and Hiroko gave Viktor are super effective, so he's more or less back to normal the day after. There's no reason for Yuuri to stay any longer, so he moves back to his room. It's a lonely feeling, seeing all of his belongings that he piled up disappear with him: laptop, chargers, video games, phone, an extra pair of socks, a hoodie, and an extra glass of water…

Viktor doesn't know if he can ever sleep again without him by his side.

But that's okay; they're back to normal. And it's not like nothing good came out of Yuuri staying over, rather the opposite: if their conversation at the beach was the first step towards a new friendship, then these few days spent together, Yuuri looking after Viktor, deepened that barely budding bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nyanya = nanny  
> mama = mom  
> papa = dad
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Kudos make me happy and so do comments, so please don't be afraid to leave me either of the two. You can also find me on Tumblr [@glitterburg](http://glitterburg.tumblr.com). I'm a friendly person who loves meeting new people ;)


	8. A life, summarised in music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri's slowly but steadily growing trust is surprising and unexpected, and it helps Viktor manoeuvring around his emotions easier than he realizes. It stirs new, yet undiscovered feelings in him too, hopefully ones that will make him a happier person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read the previous chapter and you're still here, I love you, and I promise you're in for some happier times! Viktor and Yuuri's relationship is finally progressing in a good direction, and it's affecting Viktor positively. 
> 
> There's mention of the depressive episode from chapter 7, but nothing too detailed.
> 
> A fair warning: I'll be talking about skating quite a bit in this chapter, and although I did loads of research, I can only hope I'm being realistic with my ideas.
> 
> Enjoy!

Hasetsu looks sad under the thick layer of gloomy clouds and the rain that sporadically showers its streets, and Viktor looks even sadder struggling in the hot, humid air trapped under said clouds. Humidity affects Viktor in the most unusual way, his hair curling in a thousand directions at the tips. But while he's only a little annoyed by that, the unnatural rise in the temperature gets to him worse. The weather is often rainy in St Petersburg too, but that rain is the chilly, refreshing kind, so with each day, Ice Castle feels more like a shelter rather than just the rink he and Yuuri are training at. 

As soon as he spots Yuuri in the distance, running towards him faster than his training regime strictly requires him to, he knows something is up. Indeed, he's bringing excellent news: his composer gave them the thumbs up: she agreed to redo the entire piece of free skate music that Viktor rejected earlier. Although he doesn't know what sort of improvement to expect, Yuuri's unusual confidence and excitement seems like a good sign that things are about to improve.

“Until it’s ready, umm… Please teach me all the jumps that you can do!” He requests boldly, another proof of the confidence that Viktor likes to see.

And how would it be possible to say no to him when he looks at him with such determination, even though not even a week passed since he suggested nixing the quads altogether? Crossing them out of the choreographies is certainly still an option, Viktor contemplates, but they won't have another opening like this in their schedule once they have their hands on the polished free skate music. So, naturally, Viktor finds himself accepting the request.

Anyway, it's also a good opportunity to properly assess Yuuri once and for all, considering that Yurio’s intervention and then Viktor’s sickness that followed shortly after didn’t leave them with much quality time on the ice. It’s good to know what exactly they can work with before they plunge headfirst into choreographing the second program.

"Which ones are you the most confident about?" He asks half an hour later when Yuuri’s thoroughly warmed up both off and on the ice. Viktor’s drawing careful circles; the illness and the lack of proper meals left him weaker than he's been in years, so he's saving whatever energy he has for later. “The triples?”

He comes to a stop next to the exit and picks up his freshly drawn chart from the top of the boards where he left it. Yuuri skates up to him, peeking at the unfilled page.

“I’m good with the triples. The Axel is shaky sometimes, but they’re fine otherwise,” he mumbles. “If we could practice the quads instead…”

Viktor hums along.

“Show me the triples, anyway. It’s easier to correct dodgy posture on jumps that you can already land."

Yuuri doesn't put up a fight, just silently pushes away from the barrier and skates a full circle to pick up enough speed.

“The Lutz first!” Viktor shouts.

He's good. He's nailing the Lutz and the rest too like he said he would. His technique is solid, and he performs steadily and consistently, although the Axels are sometimes less graceful than the others. Well, it is the most difficult jump of the bunch and Yuuri already knows there's room for improvement on that one. Regardless, Viktor can tell that all of them have been drilled into Yuuri ages ago and he marks them accordingly on his chart.

“Tell me about your quads. I already know that your Toe Loop is beautiful,” he says after he calls his skater back to the side.

“The only other quad I really do in competition is the Salchow, but I’m still so bad at it,” Yuuri sighs.

"Then why are you insisting on doing them in competitions?" Viktor muses aloud, tapping his pen against the corner of his lips as he looks at Yuuri, considering him.

“Because I can’t be the only senior who can do only one quad,” Yuuri says.

"Why? There's no rule against it." Why force something that's beyond your technical level, he wants to ask. It's suicidal; that quad loses him more points than it wins if he manages to underrotate as well as fall on the landing. Viktor realizes that this conversation is about to quickly spiral down the same road it did back in the onsen, so he tries to steer it in a different direction - like figure out what's up with Yuuri's stubbornness regarding this specific jump. “The Salchow is the easiest quad in the lot.”

"I know," Yuuri sighs, frustration more evident in his voice. "Yurio gave me some tips, but I still can't do it perfectly."

"Okay. How about the Flip then?”

Yuuri squeaks and Viktor raises both of his eyebrows.

“What? You landed it in that Stammi Vicino copy." He means that private performance which ended up on the internet, kudos to the triplets.

“I don’t know how I did that,” Yuuri says dismissively with a flick of his wrist. "I did practice it for a while back in Detroit, but I never got close enough to land it.”

"Is that so?" Viktor puts a mark next to the Quad Flip in his chart. “So why do you think you landed it in Stammi Vicino?”

“I don’t know… I guess I was so focused on copying every little thing you did in it that I somehow got myself to believe I was as good as you.”

“This right here sounds like the solution to all of our problems," Viktor says, brightening up. He stabs Yuuri in the middle of his chest with his index finger, emphasizing his point.

Once upon a time when he didn't know better, Viktor did think that rectifying Yuuri’s inefficient techniques, the ones he learned by imitating Viktor, would solve their problems regarding the jumps. He realized that it wasn't that simple since then; when Yuuri says he messes up his programs because he doesn't have the necessary faith in himself, he isn't joking.

“W-What do you mean?”

“Here’s the proof that you can accomplish everything you want if you believe you can do it."

Yuuri’s face heats up.

“That’s not how I work,” Yuuri protests.

“And I’m ready to prove you that it’s possible to learn how to be confident. Just like when you learn any other skill, you need to practice it.”

Yuuri isn’t meeting his eyes anymore and his arms are swinging back and forth, his lips pressed into a tight line as if in an attempt to stop himself from replying.

"How about the Quad Lutz and the Quad Loop?"

“We tried with Celestino, but… you know. I couldn't even land the Salchow, so he suggested we stop trying until I nailed that one. It's supposed to be the easiest, as you said."

Viktor stays silent for a while, rereading his notes in his chart again. At one point, he asks Yuuri to show him his triples again, and albeit confused, he obliges. Some skaters, including Viktor, don't feel the difference between edge jumps and toe jumps, but most others prefer one over the other; it’s natural, really. He’s watched Yakov evaluate enough skaters to be able to pick up on the slight nuances like his coach did, so he hopes he’ll be able to confirm what he already suspects about Yuuri.

“I think your previous coach didn’t approach this the right way,” he says when Yuuri stops in front of him a few minutes later. “It looks to me that you're more at ease with the toe jumps. Both the Salchow and the Axel are edge jumps. Your Toe Loop, a toe jump, is perfect, and the Flip is another toe jump that you could probably land consistently with proper practice.”

The defiance he finds on Yuuri’s face when he looks up from his chart is surprising, and when Yuuri insists on learning the quad Salchow, he almost sounds as though he’s holding a personal vendetta against it.

“Everyone can land that jump.” He grits the words between his teeth. He's holding a grudge here, definitely. Viktor isn't able to hide his amusement as well as he's supposed to as a coach, but it really is a little funny. Yuuri is too stubborn, but so was Viktor under Yakov's supervision, and the similarity puts a smile on his face. "It's embarrassing to be the only one who can't.”

Viktor taps the end of his pen against his lips again. Yuuri’s been onto this Salchow business since the moment he’s allowed on the ice, and from what he can tell it's been a sensitive topic for a while even before that. It was the first jump he flopped at the Grand Prix Final last year, the one that started an awful chain reaction and ruined the rest too. If Viktor insists on practicing the toe jumps, Yuuri will find time for the Salchows outside their training schedule and that's something Viktor wants to avoid. Seeing with his own eyes how brutal Yuuri can get without Viktor's supervision, he won't be risking injuries just to prove a point as a coach.

Though honestly, who cares if Yuuri can't land a Quad Salchow if he's the only one within the competitors who can pull off Viktor's signature move, the Quad Flip?

"Alright," he says in the end, offering a smile and a hand to shake. "Let's do it."

The hard muscles around Yuuri’s jaw ease into a smile too. They devote the rest of the day to the Salchows. Viktor demonstrates how to do it a couple of times, slightly altering his technique to cater more to Yuuri’s physical abilities. The painkillers he’s still taking for his stomach are super effective, but he doesn’t risk more than a few jumps at a time. They get Yuuri’s phone out and record him in slow motion, so they can play it back later and pick his take-off and landing apart, frame by frame.

Viktor ends up back on the ice when Yuuri seems to get the hang of it, jumping with Yuuri, following him half a second behind, copying him.

“Please, let me do it once more!” Yuuri says, not for the first time that day.

Viktor’s at his limit already, and he’d like to think it’s because he’s still recovering, not because the age gap between himself and his skater is that wide. If he has to be realistic though, he’s got to admit that he's never been blessed with the kind of stamina Yuuri possesses, nor has Yuuri ever had a major injury that would leave his joints stiff and his bones all the more sensitive to the hard impacts with the ice.

He doesn’t expect Yuuri to dismiss him so easily by pushing at the crown of his head though. As if Viktor needs confirmation that he's past his expiry date as an attractive man without a reclining hairline. He knows he's being a little ridiculous while he collapses on the ice, and he won’t deny the slight amusement he feels either when Yuuri freaks out and follows him down to floor level to apologize repeatedly.

When they get back up and establish that Yuuri just thought the dim rays of the sun were playing on Viktor's hair nicely, he lets Yuuri skate more with a happy little smile on his face.

Yuuri doesn’t look tired yet, but Viktor steps off the ice and wipes his face with a towel. It wouldn’t be wise to push himself further on the first day he’s back to training, so he takes a seat on a bench. He gathers his thoughts and writes down Yuuri's progression on the backside of the chart sheet, ignoring the fluttering butterflies in his stomach that is a constant reminder that Yuuri likes the light reflecting on his hair.

 

* * *

 

After surviving on rice and potato for who even remembers how long, the blandly cooked chicken tickling Viktor's taste buds is almost an orgasmic experience. Yuuri politely keeps his eyes off him while he's shoveling meat in his mouth, keeping to his modest kale and tomato salad with a side dish of grilled salmon.

Exhaustion is creeping up slowly on Viktor but hits him in the head with the force of a hammer when he’s only halfway through his plate. It's been such an easy day, yet he feels drained like he was preparing for the Olympics. His eyes flicker to the tv, to the football game playing. He has little idea of the rules—he must be the only man on earth who never played it, not even as a child—and his mind turns off easily while his eyes follow the ball being passed from one person to another.

That's when the thoughts he so carefully shut away in his mind seep back in under his guard, attacking from behind his back before he realizes that it’s happening.

Yakov wouldn’t have been so forgiving with Yuuri today.

Yakov would have insisted on the toe jumps and especially the Flip more.

Yakov would have forbidden Yuuri practicing the Salchows.

Yakov would have— Viktor catches himself before he can finish another sentence.

Viktor isn’t Yakov.

Viktor doesn’t want to be like Yakov.

But Yakov is the only coach he knows, the only one he can compare himself to.

He blinks and he’s back to the present where there’s a goal replaying on the screen, the commentator speaking too fast and using such Japanese terms that make him impossible to understand.

The image changes and they're back to live footage again, a slow passing of the ball between team members wearing the blue shirts.

The point is, Viktor isn’t Yakov and Yuuri isn’t Viktor. Viktor needs to find who Viktor the coach is, and he needs to treat Yuuri as no one else but Yuuri.

Every time Viktor thinks of Yakov, he still feels the ache, although slightly dulled down, a sad reminder that their ruined relationship is reality. It doesn’t matter that once upon a time Yakov supported Viktor’s crush on Yuuri if he can’t stand the idea of Viktor actually pursuing that crush.

He flicks his eyes to his skater and realizes that he’s watching him with wary eyes.

“Is everything alright?”

"Yeah," Viktor answers, and he tries a smile as well. Yuuri doesn’t look convinced. “I was thinking of Yakov,” he adds because he can tell Yuuri things like this. Because he and Yuuri brought down multiple walls between themselves and they’ve reached a comfortable level of trust; a comfortable enough level to share things like this. Things like their insecurities, like what Yuuri shared with him earlier during practice.

Yuuri nods in response but doesn’t say anything, and Viktor can’t blame him. What could he possibly reply, really? That he’s sorry, or that Viktor should try harder forgetting him, or that he should quit comparing himself to him? He knows all of these already.

He darts his eyes, looks at Yuuri’s empty plate and his own unfinished dishes. He picks up a piece of chicken. He was six kilos under his ideal weight when he finally remembered to check it on the digital scale the Katsuki family keeps in the bathroom. The last time his weight was so far off was after his break-up with Pyotr, and he never forgot the consequences of that. He isn’t that keen on repeating those same mistakes, so he eats.

“Is your stomach feeling better?” Yuuri ends up asking, watching Viktor forcing himself to swallow. When he meets his eyes, he can tell that Yuuri has many more questions and that they feel like landmines he's trying to tiptoe around. That's what they feel like to Viktor too. "I’m glad you’re eating more.”

“It’s good now,” Viktor answers honestly. "I'm still taking the medicines, just to be on the safe side, but it feels mostly fine now."

Yuuri nods in silent acknowledgment.

"Do you—" he starts after a while but trails off. His large, chestnut eyes are searching Viktor’s like they’re looking for an answer.

“Hmm?”

“Do you think it would be useful if I knew more about Yakov?”

Yuuri has a smart way with words, Viktor noticed it when they were in the confinement of his bedroom. Yuuri has this delicate way of asking questions; offering to listen, but never actively intruding on Viktor's privacy, placing the power to decide whether to answer or not in Viktor’s hand.

The thing is, the topic of Yakov ultimately leads to the topic of his parents, bound together with the heaviest chains, and while Viktor knows he has basically already said everything there was to say about his coach, he isn't ready to talk about his parents yet. (He doesn't know if he will ever be.)

He wants to trust Yuuri though. He wants Yuuri to trust him as well, and he knows that in a reversed situation he’d do his best to help him through his slump too.

Still, Viktor hesitates.

Didn’t they agree on the beach that they’d talk to each other? That they’d communicate better? That they wouldn’t let unsaid words spoil their relationship – whatever relationship that would be? Didn’t Yuuri want Viktor to be himself and nothing else?

And didn't that mean Yuuri wasn't interested in the masks Viktor's been carefully curating for exactly these situations; situations when it would be so easy to slip one on and pretend that everything is great?

How do people trust each other unconditionally? The only person Viktor ever managed to trust for a prolonged period of time was Yakov, and only because they knew each other from before Viktor started pulling up walls around his heart. Can Viktor lower those walls and invite someone in willingly? Yuuri's been peeking through the cracks, has an inkling of what exactly there is beyond.

He flicks his eyes back to Yuuri’s gentle, kind, earnest face, a face of someone who looks like he's physically unable to harm anyone.

“I agree that it would be useful if you knew more,” Viktor says in the end. A pretty easy sentence to start with, but one that doesn’t make continuing any less difficult. “I don’t really know what’s there to say,” he confesses in the end. “We met when I was four and he's been my coach for twenty-three years."

“Can I ask you questions instead? If that would make it easier?" Yuuri suggests, his voice hesitant and his eyes hidden under impossibly long eyelashes and the fringes of his hair.

“Maybe that would be easier, yeah,” Viktor agrees. “But,” he glances around the restaurant. There’re patrons gathering, watching the game with Toshiya, and Viktor doesn’t want any of them listening, even if they can’t understand a word in English, “let’s take Makkachin on a walk.”

“Of course,” Yuuri agrees instantly. “Now?”

Viktor nods. He helps Yuuri collect all the little dishes and take them back to the kitchen before they haul the poodle from the garden. Viktor loves how they don't need to leash him in the daylight because Hasetsu's roads are much safer than those in St Petersburg – the drivers like to keep the regulations in mind, and they’re patient, and they like dogs.

“I used to think you had the perfect relationship with your coach,” Yuuri says two streets away from Yu-Topia; it's the first sentence they exchange. Makka leads the way and Viktor suspects they're going to his favorite place: the beach close-by. "I mean, he looks scary, but you never seemed like you wanted to switch coaches."

"He’s a man of principles and he’s a strict coach, and he loses his patience easier than expected after almost fifty years of coaching children and teenagers, but… he was always more than just a coach to me.”

“Is he acting unusually?” Yuuri asks hesitantly. He has to be groping in darkness, only guessing what might be the right thing to say to urge Viktor onwards. He gets it right. He always seems to get it right.

“Yes,” Viktor sighs. “It's hard to accept something when I don't understand the motivation behind it. He wasn't exactly supportive of my decision when we parted at Pulkovo, but he didn't hate me for it either."

“Didn’t he explain?” Yuuri asks tentatively. “Later? Over the phone?”

“I kept calling him but he never picked it up, not until that evening when you had to take me from Minako's bar."

“What did he say then?”

Viktor presses a bitter huff out as his lips pull into a similarly bitter smile. Yuuri already knows what Yakov said that night.

"That I'm a selfish coach and that I involved our rink in an unnecessary scandal."

“I see,” Yuuri says, eyes suddenly downcast. “I think I’m responsible for—”

“No!” Viktor cuts him short before he can finish. “It’s not you. My father blew the news of me moving here out of proportion. That wasn’t necessary, and without that Yakov would be less angry.”

Here we go, talking about Alexei Nikiforov. It must be a curious topic for a fan like Yuuri because Viktor has been consistently making sure that he wasn't mentioning him in any way publicly. As far as the world outside Russia's concerned, he has no family.

But Yuuri doesn’t react to what he’s saying, not for the next few seconds, and when he does, he doesn’t expect his kind, soft face to harden with anger. He's scuffing in Japanese and Viktor manages to pick out a couple of swear words.

“You heard about him?” Viktor asks suspiciously. Has he not been as careful as he thought he was?

“Not—Not that much!” Yuuri explains hurriedly, almost panicking. “Yuuko and I used to collect all sorts of articles about you,” he adds, softer this time.

“Ah,” Viktor sighs. That makes sense. Viktor knows he is—or was? —Yuuri’s idol, but they never discussed how deep Yuuri's fascination used to run when he was younger. He might as well have an extensive collection of articles hidden somewhere.

“I gathered he wasn’t a supportive father,” Yuuri adds reluctantly.

“ _Anyway,_ ” Viktor presses. “The thing with Yakov is, he can’t stand it when his skaters are talked about for something other than their achievements.”

“But you’re his skater too. He should be upset with the journalists, not with you,” Yuuri says.

“No, I’m not his skater anymore. I didn’t tell him when I’d return to compete, or if I even wanted to return.”

Yuuri’s breath catches and Viktor looks at him. His eyes are sternly on the pavement showing the way to the coastline. 

"If you told him we only agreed that you'd coach me to win the Grand Prix..." he starts slowly, but he never finishes the sentence.

“Yuuri, I don’t know if that’s all I want.”

It's too early to even think about it, let alone talk about it. Viktor didn’t even have time to start figuring out what exactly it is he wants. Not even two months passed since he escaped from St Petersburg, and he couldn’t go back just yet, not even if he wanted to. Alexei Nikiforov would slaughter him the moment he set foot in a Russian airport.

Plus, he loves the freedom Hasetsu offers: he loves that there’s no pressure to mould himself into a character that the people surrounding him want to see, he loves that he's able to give Makkachin as much of his free time as he deserves, he loves being friends with Yuuri, and he loves that while being openly gay is still frowned upon, people wouldn’t come after him with a branding iron for holding another man’s hand.

“I don’t know what I need,” he confesses in the end. “If skating was enough, I wouldn’t have considered becoming a coach, but skating isn’t enough anymore.”

“Why not?”

“The top of the podium is a lonely place and I’ve been there for too long,” Viktor says. It’s the first time he says it out loud – the first time he admits it to someone other than himself.

They reach the trail that leads through the woods down to the shore and Makka pads along the narrow little route, yipping happily. He takes off as soon as they reach the edge of the trees on the other side, chasing gulls—black-tailed gulls, Viktor remembers Yuuri calling them—in the gloomy-gray sunset.

“That’s something I understand. The bottom is lonely too,” Yuuri says quietly after a while.

“I wonder what it felt like, coming in last at the finals?” Viktor asks curiously. The topic is slowly deteriorating from Yakov and it looks like neither of them minds the change so far.

“It felt like I’d be alone forever, never good enough to catch up to where the rest of you were,” Yuuri says slowly. "What did it feel like on the top?”

"Like I'd be alone forever like no one would be good enough to catch up to me.” Viktor smiles at the absurd similarity of their answers. "But how I wished before every competition that at least Christophe would surprise me by coming in first.”

Yuuri smiles in a similarly bitter way. They find their usual spot and sit in the damp, cool sand.

“Yakov hated to see me like that," Viktor says after a while. "When Georgi joined our rink, he kept hooking us up outside of practice as well so I'd make a friend."

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri mutters, just barely on this side of audible.

“Why? You don’t need to be.”

“I didn’t know…” Yuuri says, faltering again.

“Of course you didn’t.” Viktor smiles. “That was the point.”

He doesn’t know what makes him smile so many times during this conversation. Nothing that either of them says is even close to funny. It’s probably just the old habit kicking in now that he’s gaining back some control over his mind.

"Yuuri," he says when he realizes that his companion won't answer. "What would you be doing now if I never came to coach you?”

“Huh,” Yuuri sighs. He lifts his gaze finally, but instead of looking at Viktor he’s looking at the wide plane of the ocean. “I was ready to leave skating behind for good. I was giving up. I thought I’d skate your program to Yuuko and that would be it. My career would have started by practicing your routine and it would have finished by practicing your routine too. I screwed up very badly. I wasted my opportunity to make my dream come true, so I thought it was about time I woke up and started living in the real world.”

“What’s that dream?”

Yuuri's eyes are becoming too shiny too fast. It takes Viktor a moment to recognize that they’re tears threatening to fall.

“To meet you on the ice as an equal.”

“You’ve done that, Yuuri. I’m here as your equal.”

“Not really. You’re my coach because you’re a better skater than I am.” He draws his knees up in a familiar manner, hugging them close and resting his chin on the top of them.

“Do you know what I was thinking when I searched your name online and watched your videos?” Viktor asks. Yuuri shakes his head.

“Oh god, what a loser?”

“I was thinking, ‘this guy here has the potential to beat me, so why isn't he beating me?’ That's why I'm here.”

“Really?” Yuuri asks, his voice and the shine in his eyes still doubtful, but at least he doesn’t look like he’s going to cry now.

"Really, Yuuri."

“Wow…”

“You turned my life upside down the moment you danced your way into it.”

When did this conversation take such a turn? How did Viktor end up confessing that he didn’t stop thinking about Yuuri since the moment he set eyes on him at the banquet? That sweet, tipsy, overprotective, sexy, mind-blowing guy who begged Viktor to be his coach swept him off his feet and Viktor never managed to stand back up.

He didn’t know who or what exactly Yuuri was before; he’s been so bafflingly confusing that Viktor’s mind froze trying to compare him to the person he met at the party. But the more he gets to know him the more he realizes that Yuuri’s the same sweet, overprotective, sexy, mind-blowing guy he was back then, just a hundred times shier and subtler and more nervous.

Makka finds his way back to the pair of them and settles between their legs, rolling onto his back and rubbing it all over the sand while Yuuri scratches his stomach. How Viktor will get the sand that sticks to the tight, curly fur out, he doesn’t know yet.

“Why did you choose me?” He asks when Makkachin stops distracting Yuuri. “As an idol, I mean.”

Yuuri doesn’t lift his gaze from Makka and he looks like he’s thinking very hard.

“It wasn’t a choice,” he says when he makes up his mind, “You were such a fascinating dancer, and…”

“And?” Viktor asks when Yuuri cuts the rest of his answer off.

“It’s silly.”

He raises both eyebrows in response. "I bet it's not," he says when he realizes that Yuuri doesn't see him.

“You looked like an angel,” Yuuri answers finally, mumbling, and blushing a deeper shade of red than he did in weeks. It's alright because that simple statement draws the color out on Viktor's cheeks too. “Like you just stepped out of a fairy tale, really. I didn't know that eyes this vibrant blue or hair so light in color could be real. I'm sorry, I know this is stupid."

“It’s not stupid,” Viktor manages to say. He lost count how many times he's been complimented like this by people who meant to charm him, to manipulate him, and to take advantage of him, but this feels different. Yuuri's so earnest and so pure in his confession that it leaves Viktor nearly speechless.

“But that’s not why I stayed your fan,” Yuuri continues, his voice muffled by his own knees that he’s still hugging close to himself.

“Why did you stay?” Viktor prods.

“Because.” An answer that’s far from satisfying.

“Because?”

“Because you were always smiling, yet your eyes were sad. I was wondering if we were more similar than I thought was possible. I mean, you were Viktor Nikiforov. Why would you be sad?”

Why, indeed. Viktor smiles bitterly.

“And what did you find?” He asks.

“That we were.”

Yuuri doesn't look particularly sad these days, but he remembers the sadness that radiated from the man he met at the competitions, ruined and crying for reasons Viktor still doesn't understand. He remembers half-sentences dropped here and there during conversations with Hiroko, Yuuko, and Minako, but the picture he has of Yuuri in his mind isn’t nearly as well defined as Yuuri’s is of Viktor. Despite his loving family and friends, did Yuuri have a sad childhood too? Why would he be sad?

He catches himself asking the same question Yuuri did a minute ago, and he's sure that between the two of them, it isn't Yuuri who is entirely clueless about the reasons.

Viktor loops an arm around his shoulders and pulls him closer when the skater doesn't object.

“I think Yakov has a reason,” Yuuri says quietly. “I think he’ll explain when he’s ready.”

“You overestimate my value.” Viktor’s value is measured by the golds he brings back to his home rink. Now that he isn’t bringing anymore, he’s basically worthless. The coaching fee he paid Yakov for the entire upcoming season as he decided back then to help the rink financially, has been fully refunded to him without a note attached. 

“I don’t think I do.”

The frustration Viktor developed while Yakov was ignoring his calls and texts morphed into anger after he finally wasn't ignoring them. Those feelings are transforming into resigned acceptance now as realization slowly settles in. Yuuri trying to contradict him doesn’t stop that process.

“I’m so sorry,” Yuuri whispers suddenly, the same time Viktor's heart sinks with the weight of his thoughts. He turns in Viktor’s embrace and wraps both arms around his neck. “I wish Yakov was more reliable.”

"I don't need Yakov." He really doesn't. Not as long as he has Yuuri, even if he knows that there will come a day when Yuuri will not want him any longer. But like every time, Viktor ignores this fact until after the moment he’s been ditched.

For now, he relaxes into the hug Yuuri offers him. The peaceful moment ends only when Makkachin decides he wants his share of hugs too and climbs into their laps, rubbing sand on their clothes.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri is changing, and it’s happening so fast it’s difficult to keep up with it. Back in April, he was still impossible to talk to, and here they are now, a few days into June, and he's like an entirely different person. Viktor wonders if this is what Hiroko was talking about, that Yuuri just needed to see the human behind Viktor’s idol image before he was able to trust in return.

Confirmation comes from one of the least expected people: Mari, who’s pulling him aside after a confusing episode in the morning, when Yuuri keeps babbling excitedly about the sunny heatwave that’s about to hit the southern part of Japan, Hasetsu included.

“Get used to it,” she says warningly in a teasing voice she usually reserves for Yuuri. She’s probably misinterpreting Viktor’s bafflement over the fact that Yuuri’s capable of chit-chatting as if his enthusiasm could be anything other than adorable. “My brother can be quite the chatterbox once he realizes it's okay to be one."

“Do you mean…” Viktor starts slowly, not daring to finish the sentence. He looks over his shoulder at Yuuri, who's quietly humming while finishing breakfast with his eyes still fixed on the weather forecast on TV.

Mari pulls a face and rolls his eyes. “Honestly,” she sighs exasperatedly. “I thought you’d figure it out by now. How do I say it?” She falters for a second, looking for the right words in English. “He isn’t much different than a dog, once you earn his trust and he stays faithful forever. Or until you break his heart. But if you do that, I promise you it won't only be his heart that will be breaking."

What?

Wait, what?

Viktor's brain shortcircuits and it has to be showing on his face too because he can feel his eyes rounding in surprise and his jaw going slack. Is Mari giving him the talk? _The talk?_ It sounds awfully like the talk Yakov gave Pyotr, whose jaw met his coach’s iron fist when he didn’t meet his expectations.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Mari continues talking like what she just said is no big deal, “I’m not encouraging your depressive episodes, but if Yuuri didn’t see you like that, you wouldn’t have to listen to him being annoyingly excited about the fucking summer that will kill half of Hasetsu.”

"He isn't annoying," Viktor says, his voice almost offended, focusing on the most insulting part of Mari's monologue.

The look on her face changes into some sort of skeptical grimace, evidence of disbelief.

But more importantly, why is Mari giving him _the talk_?

Even more importantly, has Viktor been this transparent? Has his pining been so obvious, and if it's obvious to her, who else is it obvious to?

Oh god, and here he thought he was doing a good job ignoring the affectionate feelings he’s carrying for Yuuri.

Viktor reaches for the necktie that feels just a little bit too tight and adjusts it under his Adam's apple.

"Anyway, I wouldn't want you to misunderstand, it's not like—We aren't—" They aren't – what? "I mean, he sleeps over sometimes, but it's nothing like that. We're just friends." There. Point made.

Mari shifts her eyes, hopefully not in disbelief, and pats him on the shoulder before she returns to her previous task, setting up the tables for the lunch service. Viktor stumbles back to the table he's sharing with Yuuri and drops down on the floor next to him.

“Is everything alright?” Yuuri asks, tearing his eyes off the screen for the first time in minutes.

“Yeah,” Viktor answers and his voice comes out weaker than meant to.

Mari knows. _Mari knows._ What is he supposed to do now? From the corner of his eyes, he can see that Mari’s watching them. She looks way too amused in Viktor’s opinion. She did sound supportive though, so that means even if she noticed Viktor's enormous, dumb crush on Yuuri, she doesn't mind it for the time being.

“Summer is finally here,” Yuuri sighs blissfully obliviously. “I missed summers in Hasetsu.”

“Yeah?” Viktor jumps on the topic in an attempt to distract himself from the shock Mari just delivered.

“Summers are usually hot and humid, which is great because honestly, everything under twenty degrees Celsius is a torture to survive. It’ll rain a lot, but when the sun’s out, that’s the best. The best festivals are also in the summer and I haven’t been to any of them for five years, so I’m looking forward to them.”

The hot and humid part doesn’t sound too tempting to Viktor, especially since it’s plenty hot and humid in this gloomy weather already. The summers in St Petersburg are often cloudy and mild, just perfectly pleasant if you ask him, but the idea of festivals does perk up his interest.

“Like outdoors concerts and parties?” He asks.

"Oh, not that kind,” he says. Festivals in Japan aren’t like that. We usually celebrate local traditions, and it’s more about food, games, contests, and parades. Sometimes there are fireworks too.”

Strangely, the idea Yuuri describes sounds more exciting than the loud music festivals that stretch through the summers in Russia.

“Are we going?” He asks.

“Would you like to?” Yuuri looks at him, stunning chestnut eyes searching Viktor's face.

He nods. The two of them never go out together just to have fun. Maybe it'd be a good way to relax between the exhausting training sessions… almost like a date. Discreetly, he searches the room again and finds it Mari-free. That's a relief.

“There’ll be one in Hasetsu, and then a few more interesting ones in Fukuoka.”

Viktor checks his watch. He still has hours left until his meeting with the Uniqlo representative who was kind enough to travel all the way from Tokyo to Hasetsu.

It's always been Yakov's job to meet and communicate with Viktor's sponsors, and although he has a vague idea of what he's getting into, he doesn't really know how he's supposed to act around Japanese businessmen. He wonders if he'll be expected to talk in the politest way, even if English will never compare to the levels of politeness Japanese accommodates to talk to someone.

Yuuri did his best trying to explain the intricate hierarchies that run among the society, that although Viktor will be younger than the person he’s meeting, his title as a world and Olympic champion will outrank him nonetheless. He shouldn't be surprised if he'll be addressed as Nikiforov-sama, but at the same time, he doesn't feel comfortable regarding his business partner in a less respectful way, even if it's part of the etiquette that he regards him with ‘-san'. Or, if he makes an error, will it be ignored because he's a foreigner who understandably doesn't know better?

Yakov wouldn't care. Yakov would be crude and straight-to-the-point and would address everyone equally with Ms or Mr. He wouldn’t care about Japanese formalities.

He’s fiddling with his tie again, he notices when he catches Yuuri watching his hands fuss with the perfectly symmetrical, triangle-shaped knot at the base of his throat.

“Are you sure it’s okay if I’m not coming?”

“Absolutely,” Viktor replies automatically. “I never came along with Yakov. It’ll be just boring business talk anyway.”

“Please, don’t agree to promote anything that looks ridiculous on me.” Yuuri’s practically begging, his eyes round and large like Hiroko’s plates.

“Don’t worry. My fashion sense is more developed than yours. I know what you need more than you.”

Yuuri looks at him as if that’s exactly why he’s so worried.

“Okay,” he says in the end and lets Viktor have his way, but he sounds less confident than he looks.

Yuuri takes off at the usual time to jog to the ice rink and Viktor trails back up to his room. He'll be meeting the delegate in one of the best hotels Hasetsu offers, one along the coastline with a superb view of the ocean. He’s been formally invited to a coffee, and the Katsuki family swears that they serve one of the best in town.

He arrives fifteen minutes early, but when he introduces himself at the hotel reception, it seems that the staff has already been informed of his arrival and he's being escorted into the bar right next to the empty restaurant. Breakfast service has wrapped up already, but a few people apart from him are enjoying what the limited bar menu has on offer.

His business partner, Bando-san freaks out mildly when he sees that Nikiforov-sama arrived before him, so Viktor feels extremely grateful that he didn't have time to order anything yet. That would surely result in more apologies, he guesses, if Yuuri's panicky behavior in similar situations is a recurring pattern in social settings.

They sort out their orders; Viktor gets a latte with gorgeous flower art on top of it made of frothy milk, and Bando-san gets some sort of fragrant, bitter green tea. After that, they have a pleasant small talk about the oncoming summery weather and Viktor's impressions of Japan and its people so far. His language studies interest Bando-san, so they switch to Viktor's halting Japanese, and he's pleasantly surprised that he both understands and speaks better than he estimated. When their cups are empty, they’re replaced by folders stacked on folders, and they switch back to better flowing English.

The contract is straight to the point: both Yuuri and Viktor will model for their upcoming autumn and winter collections, accept the terms that the images will appear both on billboards in-store internationally, and on the Japanese and Russian streets. They also agree that Yuuri will be wearing at least one branded item at all times when he’s in public. Viktor explains the current situation regarding his popularity in his home country, but Uniqlo seems to like controversy and doesn't care about the current status the Russian news put him into.

Viktor explains that his own, already standing contracts with other brands don’t allow a lot of free space to wear much from Uniqlo, although he’d be delighted to sometimes do so. Bando-san excuses himself to make a phone call to confirm with his higher-ups that his request isn't as bold and outrageous as it sounds, and in the end, they agree to push Yuuri to be in the main focus of the promotions. The brand seems to be desperate enough to have Viktor on any conditions, as long as he's willing to model in their photos.

Bando-san then pulls out a couple of catalogues that include the entire range of clothes for the forthcoming seasons. The pieces they’d be advertising in the photos are non-negotiable, but the ones for Yuuri’s publicly private use are up to Viktor to pick. There are hundreds of choices and Bando-san doesn’t set a maximum limit. Viktor’s long forgotten love for shopping returns, the familiar butterfly excitement in his stomach fluttering awake.

He knows exactly what Yuuri would choose for himself: the simplest t-shirts and comfy slacks, and that's exactly why Viktor's glad Yuuri isn't here now. He marks a variety of pants, jeans, button-downs, sweaters, jackets, coats, and leaves space for only a few regular cut t-shirts. Some of them have cute motives and texts printed on the front, and most of them will be complimenting Yuuri’s slim figure and his well-curated muscles. It's time to give his current wardrobe, that mostly consists of baggy, unflattering clothes, a makeover. 

He keeps Yuuri’s desperate request in mind though. He knows that he prefers darker colors, and he figures that his favorite is blue, so he sticks to those for the most part. But red looks awfully good on him and so does white, so he sneaks in a few of those too.

They rearrange the fees Viktor would be getting based on the reduced amount of promotions he’ll be doing (he refuses to let it reflect on the money Yuuri will be getting), then they set the time and place for the photoshoot: a week from today in Fukuoka, which is a pretty close date, but Bando-san promises it’s more than enough time to set the studio up and ship the crew of stylists and photographers down there along with the clothes. Somebody else from Tokyo will travel all the way down here with the revised contract by tomorrow evening to get both his and Yuuri’s signatures, and Viktor gives the businessman Yu-Topia’s address.

 

* * *

 

That evening comes with an unexpected surprise; Viktor stirs to the noise of his bedroom door sliding open loudly and Makka yelping as Yuuri jumps on his bed in such a hurry that he steps on his fluffy tail.

“Viktor, listen to this! The music for the free program is done!”

Sleepiness evaporates with the same fast speed it hit Viktor an hour ago, especially when he squints at the bright lights that Yuuri cruelly turns on on both sides of his bed. He can’t complain though, because his excitement is contagious; he’s already perked up when he pops the earbuds in his ears and plays the music.

Viktor’s lost as soon as the melody starts with the rapid piano. He recognizes the original tune in it, the one he dismissed, and it sounds even more negligible compared to the complexity of this one. It's rapid and it's building up tension, and the violin joining in is unexpected with the drums in the background. It’s phenomenal.

His heart skips a beat when the music quiets down into a few single notes in the middle, like when the rainstorm ends and there are just a few drops of water pitter-pattering off the rooftop. The piano picks the speed back up gradually, growing even more frantic than before, and turning the desperate melody from the beginning into something that bears more positive feelings.

“It’s perfect,” he says when the song ends. It tells a story; it may be a story Viktor isn’t familiar with, but he wants to be. Very much so. “It’s beautiful.”

Yuuri nods along, eyes bright and happy, and for the first time, Viktor even sees pride in them.

“Really?” He asks, his voice betraying the happiness on his face with a hint of doubt.

“Really,” Viktor assures him. “This is something worth skating to.”

The smile on Yuuri’s face pulls wider and his shoulders shimmy in that cute sort of way Viktor’s always been weak for. That’s how he explains his inability to resist catching Yuuri by his bicep and slowly pulling him down on top of him, into a hug. The laptop slips from his thigh and bumps into Makka who couldn’t care less.

“Vi-Victor!” Yuuri yelps as he ends up crashing into Viktor clumsily, his entire body tensing up like a string pulled from both ends. He's exactly where Viktor wants him, he just wishes Yuuri would realize it too. But he deliberately keeps his head and arms slightly lifted just so they won’t touch him.

“Is this too much?” Viktor asks and desperately hopes that it isn’t.

“No,” Yuuri mumbles timidly and Viktor believes him only because he doesn’t move to get off. He reminds himself that Yuuri tends to do this: he tends to need a few seconds to a minute to ease up when Viktor hugs him or touches him without warning. Even though he did say Viktor could hug him whenever he wanted to.

“Yuuri, I’m mesmerized by your music. I wonder what exactly you told your composer that inspired her to create something so magical,” he says contently, drawing the topic back to Yuuri’s song and hopefully distracting him from the fact that the two of them are physically closer—although separated by a thin summer blanket—than ever, including the time Viktor spent sick in his arms.

Viktor, of course, knows what a composer needs to turn an idea into a song: a good, detailed description of emotions to portray, and a background story. But, if he’s learned anything about Yuuri thus far, it’s that his trust is a challenge to earn.

“We had some classes together. She was a friend.” Yuuri says, still mumbling.

Viktor doesn’t interrupt him, nor does he try to move, and Yuuri gradually relaxes against him; he tentatively moves his arms, so they lay parallel to their bodies and slowly lowers them on top of the blanket. He lowers his cheek too until it touches Viktor, but the muscles in his neck are still taut and he still doesn’t allow its entire weight to press against Viktor’s chest. He slowly exhales the lungful of air he’s been holding, so carefully that it gently tickles Viktor's skin.

He’s suddenly very aware that he doesn’t have a shirt on. He doesn’t have bottoms on either, but the blanket separates them and Yuuri doesn’t need to be aware of this detail for now. Instead of going down on this unwelcome road that leads to unwelcome thoughts, he wonders why Yuuri’s so scared of intimate physical contact.

It’s a question better left for another time, he decides, because it’s not of the topic they’re discussing right now.

 “Classes?” He asks tentatively, somewhat loosening his arms around Yuuri’s torso to let him know he’s welcomed to get comfier if he wants to. “I thought she was studying music?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri murmurs. “She was. I was majoring in English to be a teacher, but I had music as my minor because I thought I could also teach music? I knew how to play the piano, so it seemed like a good idea at the time."

It shouldn’t come as a surprise. Of course, Yuuri can play the piano. He even has a small electronic one in his bedroom. Of course, the musicality he's showcasing on the ice isn’t limited strictly to that, doesn’t stop in Minako’s studio either, not even in the delicate manner he’s moving with when he isn’t on the ice. Can he sing too? Viktor wonders.

“Katsuki-sensei.” He curls his voice around the two words.

“Viktor,” Yuuri’s voice is muffled, a tell-tale sign of embarrassment.

“I thought you studied business management or accountancy or something,” Viktor muses. “Because of Yu-Topia. Or dance, because you’re one of the most talented dancers I know.”

“Business is Mari’s forte. She’s way more invested in the onsen than I am, as you can probably tell, and I suck at math, so I’d have suffered a lot with that in Uni.” He stops for a second and sniffles, takes a breath before he continues. “I wish I could major in music or dance, but I’m already a figure skater and I understand my family would want me to have a career to fall back on if, you know, skating doesn’t pay the bills. A music or dance major would have been another risky decision that we couldn't afford, but I did get to study both, so I'm still happy. I took some dance classes for extra credit.”

“If you could freely choose, what would you have studied?” Viktor asks because he hopes he could understand Yuuri’s point of view better. Viktor didn’t have the family that cared, but at least he wasn’t denied the funds needed to dance and skate.

“Music composition,” Yuuri sighs. His voice sounds dreamy like in those rare occurrences he’s confident enough to dream big on the ice. “I wanted to compose music to skate to.”

“Does this have anything to do with the common knowledge that I commission everything I skate to?” Viktor asks. He can’t help the teasing tone; his question isn’t entirely serious, and maybe this much is alright. Well, apparently, it isn’t.

“N-NO!” Yuuri shouts louder than necessary, and the next second he’s already trying to struggle off Viktor and probably off the bed too.

Viktor cuddles him tighter and locks his fingers over the small of Yuuri’s back, preventing him from putting distance between the two of them.

“Hey, I’m not trying to make fun of you,” he says softly. Yuuri makes a noise at the back of his throat. “I love pianists. I want to listen to you playing sometime.”

Yuuri hums, a friendlier noise than the one before, but Viktor doesn’t find out whether it’s in agreement or rejection.

“Ketty was tutoring me sometimes,” Yuuri says after such a long while that Viktor isn’t expecting an answer anymore. “She was helping me sort out some of the more advanced scores, and she was interested in my skating, so I ended up talking about it quite a bit. It's not a very popular sport, so when I tell people about it they are usually intrigued to some degree. She didn't understand most of what I was talking about, but sometimes it felt better talking to her than to Phichit. I mean, Phichit is my best friend, but sometimes I wish he didn’t have an instant solution to all of my problems.”

“Is that bad?” Viktor asks, confused and curious at the same time. “Trying to help?”

“Yes. I mean, no, of course not, but…” Yuuri trails off and inhales a lungful of air before he releases a deep sigh. “Phichit is awesome. He’s confident and he always looks at everything from the bright side. When he sees a problem, he analyses it, solves it quickly, and moves on. I wish I was like that, but that's not who I am. Sometimes I just want someone to listen without trying to solve my life for me."

Viktor can’t see the logic in what Yuuri’s just described; why would he want to keep torturing himself with a problem when the solution is right in front of him? And with a friend like Phichit… Viktor wishes he had friends like him. But it's probably better if he keeps this opinion to himself right now, instead of offering a piece of his mind – clearly, it’s something Yuuri doesn’t appreciate even from his best friend.

“So, when I commissioned her, she already knew how trivial my career was. You heard the original version; it’s pretty accurate, isn’t it? Nothing notable to remember, or worthy to show off.”

“Hey,” Viktor hushes him, tightening his arms around him once again. What’s he supposed to say now? Does Yuuri just want him to listen without ‘trying to solve his life for him’ or is he looking for some kind of assurance that he indeed is as amazing as Viktor’s been telling him? “Your music, as it is right now, sounds like something that the entire world will remember,” he says carefully tiptoeing around the topic. “What changed?”

“I think I did,” Yuuri admits. He pulls one of his arms up and tucks a hand under his chin, inevitably placing it right on top of Viktor's sternum. "She used to focus the music on the disappointing results I’ve been producing, but I’m more hopeful these days. I think, with you by my side, I'll have a chance at the Grand Prix this year. So I asked her to focus on hope instead of disappointment.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor sighs. “How many times would you like me to remind you that your genius skating had me take a break and come running to Japan?”

“Every day…?” Yuuri answers quietly.

That’s doable, Viktor decides.

“What is the story you want to tell now?” He asks. “Is it hope you want to focus on?”

“I don’t know. Hope isn’t a strong enough emotion to build a choreography on, right? I want to win this year.”

How is it that just a minute after completely dissing himself, Yuuri’s able to believe that he can outdo everyone else? Not that it isn’t true—Viktor’s fairly certain that he’s capable of winning—it’s that he doesn’t understand how the two ideas can co-exist right next to each other.

“Your short program is about love,” he says. “It’s good to have a common theme in your programs, so how about we focus on love again? Your love for skating, hmm? Because what keeps the skates on your feet is your love for the ice, right?”

“Right," Yuuri says. He's unconvincing. His other hand comes up as well, resting on the roundness of Viktor’s shoulder, his fingers gently grasping it. He reaches for his laptop with the one that’s been tucked under his chin, removes the earbuds' chords and plays the music on low volume. He sets it on repeat, so it becomes a constant loop of that one single song. When he places his hand back where it used to be on Viktor’s chest, his head feels heavier than before.

“We can separate the song into shorter sessions and build a story based on the different set of emotions they portray,” he suggests.

“Wait. The main idea is that I'm the piano," Yuuri explains. "The violin is you, joining me when I thought I had nothing left to skate for. The music gets more complicated when I start to be-believe.” He stutters over that word as if invisible restraints were trying to prevent his tongue from curling the right way. "Believe in me."

“What’s the pause in the middle?”

“That’s—” Yuuri falters for a moment. “Those are my—” The piano in that sequence sounds just as shy as Yuuri right now. Tentative but curious and hopeful, building courage over the course of time; lonely until the violin joins it again. “That’s when I realize you are more than just my idol.”

If he’s talking about getting to know Viktor the person, not Viktor the idol, then what kind of love are they talking about? Viktor the person hardly ever proves to be loveable, as experience shows. His parents, his ex-boyfriends, even Yakov found nothing in him to love, and if they weren’t able to, then why would a pure soul like Yuuri even try? Sure, he did look quite enamored back at the banquet, but what does that matter when he keeps rejecting all of Viktor’s attempts at flirting?

He isn’t rejecting Viktor right now, a hopeful voice supplies at the back of his head. They have been getting more comfortable around one another, and he’s now closer to Viktor than anyone else before him. He managed to do that in less than two months – rejection turned into curiosity turned into care turned into trust.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to involve me in your theme?” He asks. Silly question. After all, what is On Love: Eros, if not Viktor telling the world that Yuuri seduced him in a single night then left him hanging the morning after?

“There’s no me without you, Viktor. There’s no point showing my love for skating if you aren’t a part of it.”

Viktor closes his eyes and nuzzles his cheek to the top of Yuuri's head, his hair silky and smooth against his skin. He inhales the faint mint and lime scent of his shampoo and forces himself to stop thinking and to enjoy the moment.

Yuuri stops talking too, and when the pressure grows on Viktor’s sternum, he knows. This is it; Yuuri’s finally comfortable enough to let himself fully relax. The music keeps quietly playing in the background. Their breaths synchronize, their chests rise and fall to the same slow rhythm. Yuuri shifts his arms, removing his hand from under his chin to tighten it around Viktor as much as he can. His eyelashes flutter against his skin.

“What is it?” Viktor asks silently. He’s scared he’s going to break this magical moment, but he’d kill to know what’s on Yuuri’s mind that suddenly got him hugging Viktor back with such force.

“I’ve—” Yuuri takes a deep breath. “—I’ve never listened to anyone’s heartbeat before.”

Viktor hums in acknowledgment and allows himself to soak in this feeling as long as Yuuri wants it to last.

“It’s calming, isn’t it?” He asks silently. He doesn’t need an answer and he understands why Yuuri isn’t saying anything.

It would be so easy to fall asleep like this, with Yuuri’s weight pinning him to the mattress. He can’t hear his heart beating in return, but this is calming too; it’s solid assurance that he’s here and he’s real, and what Viktor came here for might be real too. His legs are starting to fall asleep under Yuuri's legs, so he shifts them apart until Yuuri slips comfortably between them.

He has been loving Yuuri in so many different ways already, but this is the first time he thinks that he might actually _be in love with him_. The thought is scary. Viktor is self-sacrificing in a way that usually brings him more harm than happiness, but everything about Yuuri has been so irreducibly different that he can’t help hoping that being in love with him would be different too.

His fingers move involuntarily, caressing the length of his spine through the thin layer of his t-shirt.

The bedroom door is wide open and anyone walking past would surely see them tangled in one another, but there’s only the two of them occupying the uppermost floor and why would anyone bother them so late into the night? Even Mari wouldn't sneak up here to spy on them, right? Yuuri's a grown-up man fully capable of making his own decisions and he doesn't need his big sister supervising his sleep routine, right?

That's how he reasons anyway because there's no way he'll suggest Yuuri get off him, even if only for the ten seconds he’d need to close the door. He can’t be sure that Yuuri won’t shy away from climbing back where he belongs.

He listens to the music over and over instead, figuring out what each note the pianist hits means and working out choreographies that would embrace Yuuri’s natural musicality as well as his skating abilities. They’ll create something so wonderful that the earth will come to a full stop to look at him for that four and half minutes he’ll spend performing.

“This song is beautiful,” Yuuri says quietly.

Of course it’s beautiful; Yuuri inspired it so how could it be anything but that?

“Wait until we get the choreography down on paper. We’ll make sure everybody remembers you.”

“For the right reasons?”

“For the right reasons,” Viktor confirms, suspecting that it’s his insecurity kicking in again. “We’ll make everyone fall in love with you.”

“I don’t need everyone to fall in love with me,” he replies. “Just—”

“Hmm?”

“Nevermind. I want to do an Ina Bauer during this part."

It’s during that silent part in the middle, the one he described as the time he realized Viktor was something else than his idol. An Ina Bauer would flow here beautifully. With more than a decade worth of ballet behind his back, Yuuri’s Ina Bauer is the most graceful thing Viktor’s ever seen in his life. Even Lilia wouldn't find anything in it to pick at.

“Tell me all the ideas you have,” he says. “We’re choreographing this together.”

"Tomorrow," Yuuri says. He sounds sleepier with every sentence, and Viktor wants to let him get his sleep.

“Tomorrow.” He agrees as he keeps running his fingers over the shallow little valley outlining his spine again and again and again.

“I should go back to my room,” Yuuri adds, but he doesn’t seem to be actively doing anything to support that idea.

“Stay,” Viktor asks, almost begs. He misses that week of being sick when Yuuri was worried enough to spend the night here. He misses it and he wishes Yuuri didn’t need such reasons to stay over, that just Viktor asking him was enough to keep him he—

“Okay.”

Wow. Viktor's heart leaps in his chest and he faintly wonders if Yuuri can hear it. He reaches for his glasses with the hand that isn’t occupied tracing his back and places them carefully on the bedside table, then turns off the lights.

Viktor knows that Yuuri's fallen asleep when every little muscle relaxes in his body at last. He's getting a little heavy, but that might be because they've been in this exact position for a long time now. It takes Viktor a lot longer to follow him, his mind once again too occupied with the idea of being in love with this man, and the dull, aching feeling of it not being reciprocated quite the way he desires.

Give him time, he tells himself. Yuuri’s a slow bloomer, and he’s shy, and he's constantly anxious about something. He's never had a relationship before, he tells himself too. He isn't the type who is comfortable falling asleep like this with just anybody, so that’s a small win, isn’t it?

Ah. Viktor catches the familiar pattern in his train of thoughts and stops himself before he can spiral down the well-known road that always leads to bad things. He sighs. It's best not to expect anything from Yuuri and be pleasantly surprised if their friendship takes a surprising turn.

Yuuri’s pre-programmed laptop automatically turns off at three in the morning. Viktor manages to fall asleep by that time too.

 

* * *

 

“What are photoshoots like?” Yuuri asks a few breakfasts later, the date of their appointment with Uniqlo approaching fast.

“Boring,” Viktor supplies over a mouthful of grilled aubergines and a bowl of rice. “Waiting for the assistants to sort out your next outfit, waiting for your hair and make-up to be fixed, waiting for the technicians to adjust the lights, waiting for the photographer to find the perfect poses. And by the end of it, you'll have changed clothes more times than this entire year."

The shock on Yuuri's face is priceless. Well. Viktor is just honest. There’s no point sugar-coating because he’ll find out for himself in three days anyway. At least it’s easy job for the scandalous amount of money they'll be getting, and they'll have each other to entertain – unlike all the previous times when it was just Viktor and a bunch of fashion geeks who knew nothing about figure skating or about Viktor past the handsome face and the silvery white hair that no one believed was natural.

“I thought you enjoyed them,” Yuuri says after he collects himself and slurps on his miso. "You're into fashion and that sort of stuff.”

"Yes, I am!" Viktor answers because _he is into that sort of stuff_. God knows how many times he got lost in random cities with Chris, window-shopping, but there’s something significantly less attractive about being used as a flash and blood mannequin by fashion geeks. Freaking Yuuri out over what’s going to happen won’t help their situation, so he tries to keep the worst details to himself.

Yuuri gave him a list of warnings that Viktor was supposed to pass over during his meeting with the representative and which Viktor decided to forget about. It's mostly nonsense, such as Yuuri not being as photogenic as he sometimes appears in images (really, Yuuri?), or not knowing what to do when he's instructed to put certain emotions on his face and he ends up looking mostly surprised and confused, or getting sweaty easily and ruining the clothes. Clearly, he's more stressed about this than he should be, and Viktor doesn't want to add to the fire.

Hopefully, he made the right decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Kudos and comments make me happy and I appreciate them more than you think ;) You can find me on Tumblr too, as [@glitterburg](http://glitterburg.tumblr.com) if you'd like to connect with me over there.


	9. A Glimpse Into Yuuri's Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to Fukuoka turns out to be so much more than what either Yuuri or Viktor expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, you guys!
> 
> Surprise! This fic isn't dead! Sorry for dropping off the face of the Earth after the last update. If you still remember this fic or you're a new reader and made it this far, I love you lots <3
> 
> Long story short, this chapter was extremely difficult to write. This is version 7.1, but it was worth struggling with the previous 6 versions because of how Viktor and Yuuri turned out. There's a little surprise for you all: as the title says, this chapter is a glimpse into Yuuri's mind ;) I switched POV's because Viktor didn't want to cooperate with me. We shall be back on track in the next chapter, but you'll see more of Yuuri in the future. He's fun to write.
> 
> Warning: Yuuri's lack of self-confidence materializes in self-deprecating thoughts, sarcasm, and sometimes thinking very little of himself. It's not super extreme and you'll see the signs of slow but steady improvement. Also, there's some drinking again.
> 
> This is the second longest chapter with over 14,000 words. We also reached and passed the magical 100,000 words, yay!

The Uniqlo photoshoot easily tops Yuuri’s list of strangest days in life and not for the reasons he was expecting.

The expected reasons fade into irrelevancy in comparison to the unpredicted ones. A major lack of confidence because he doesn't have a photogenic atom in his body? Check. Feeling out of place in clothes he otherwise wouldn’t spare a second look in a store? Check. Getting embarrassingly flustered every time someone calls him Katsuki-sama? Check. These are all recurring nightmares in his life and he has a solid strategy to deal with them.

The problem is that Yuuri rarely sticks his head out of his own world to observe the people around him. That’s why he didn’t even think that coping with Viktor in a social environment would be an issue, even if they’re both plucked out of their comfort zones in Hasetsu. 

Yuuri has a pretty certain idea of who Viktor is by now, so when he finds himself facing this professional almost-stranger, he isn't able to bypass the contrast between the two. Private Viktor is this amazing guy Yuuri never in his wildest dreams thought could be real, and public persona Viktor Nikiforov in contrast is… scary.

He looks like he stepped out of a majestic-looking fanart with his face painted with alabaster foundation and his eyes sharper than the blades he skates on with the aid of the blackest mascara on the planet. People turn heads and stare. Viktor has the same reaction to that, to the photographer instructing him to do this and do that, to the stylists unnecessarily fiddling with his appearance, and to Yuuri quietly shrinking away with anxiety: a very obviously fake smile that leaves his eyes chilling cold.

What's even worse at first is that Yuuri’s so busy pretending to do well in the center of attention he doesn’t notice what's going on until midday. It takes an additional hour to stop detesting himself for being so ignorant and start hating the crew on the set instead. The fanboy within him trembles at how gorgeous Viktor is, but it's easy enough to kick him in the face and tell him to go die when he realizes the fake display Viktor's putting on is the same the stupid fanboy crushed on all those years ago.

Katsuki Yuuri isn’t that person anymore.

This feels wrong. Viktor’s wonderful the way he is, and he shouldn't feel pressured to be anyone else. It takes another hour of brainstorming until the pieces start to click together. _What do you want me to be?_ Viktor's question never had more meaning to Yuuri than it does now. Viktor was ready to become anything Yuuri wanted him to be at one point as if he didn't think to be just Viktor was enough.

The idea is ridiculous. If Yuuri was Phichit, he’d march up to him and tell him so. He’d walk up to him, squeeze his arm and tell him if he needed to play a role so much, play the one Yuuri requested all those weeks ago: himself.

But life isn't that easy, and Viktor isn't telling Yuuri to stop being anxious when he knows it’s not as simple as that either. Brains don’t work like that so all Yuuri can do is find another way to help him.

Doing and trying are two very different things though, and Yuuri is worse in one than in the other. The amount of hate he finds in himself directed at the crew is surprising, but he’s a large ball of raging fire only on the inside, and a trembling, scared little mouse on the outside. He feels this need to protect Viktor, but his limbs won’t move, his mouth won’t open, his tongue won’t form the words. He holds onto the hope that one day he’ll be brave enough to look after the important people in his life.

Then, Viktor spots him from where he’s standing between ring lights and the photographer, and Yuuri feels his knees shake for very different reasons when Viktor’s expression softens into that gentle smile Yuuri has never seen directed at anyone else. Viktor beckons him over with a curl of his finger, and Yuuri stumbles through the cables on the floor with the same magnetic force that attracts the moth to the fire.

“We’re wrapping up,” Viktor announces as he slings an arm over Yuuri’s shoulder and pulls him back under the lights Yuuri was happy to escape fifteen minutes ago. “Takeda-san agreed he’ll take a few more pics, just for us.”

“Oh… right.” Viktor wants professionally made, private photos with Yuuri. Yeah, that’s fine, that’s totally okay, why not. If he only knew what Viktor needed them for.

Viktor’s arm is still around his shoulder. He isn’t trying to keep a professional distance or follow any of Takeda-san’s instructions; he hugs Yuuri because he wants a photo in which he's hugging Yuuri. Sounds simple, right?

Yuuri’s brain draws a blank.

Then, an interesting thought occurs: maybe, if Yuuri took off his blindfold finally and accepted that Viktor's been treating him as an equal since the day they met, maybe then he’d stop hiding behind the false conviction that he’s a charity case Viktor’s using for publicity.

Because Viktor isn’t like that. Because Viktor, for whatever reason, decided he liked him, just like Vicchan decided that he’d be the puppy who wouldn’t ignore Yuuri back in the pet shop twelve years ago. And maybe Yuuri could just man up and show Viktor he felt the same way.

He wraps an arm around Viktor's waist and ignores his frail inner voice screaming in terror. Viktor pulls him closer as if it’s totally normal, and Yuuri tries to smile even though he knows he’s blushing crazily. He isn’t sure what expression shows on his face when Takeda-san decides to freeze that exact moment into a series of photos.

“This one is cute,” Takeda-san says casually, scrolling through the new batch on his camera.

“Can we see?” Viktor asks in polite Japanese. Yuuri half-expects to be released from under his arm when he moves, but he’s pulling him along. As they go through all of the photos from first to last like a stop-motion sequence, Yuuri watches himself bumping into Viktor's shoulder and smiling bashfully, the heat on his face materializing in a deeper shade of red in every image.

The default voice in his head demands a retake, but if Yuuri looks, really looks, he thinks he doesn’t look so bad. Not half as good as Viktor with that heartbreakingly genuine smile—the first of the day—but good enough.

“I love this one,” Viktor declares after a minute of browsing back and forth. “What do you think, Yuuri?”

“It’s fine,” he says. “I like it too.”

It’s painful to see the honest little smile slip from Viktor’s face as one of their designated stylist, Mariko-san, ushers Yuuri away, leaving him to talk business with Takeda-san alone. It takes Yuuri seeing an actual bottle of makeup remover in her hand until he believes the photo shoot is really, _really_ over. She’s been coming and going, retouching either his makeup or his hair between the sessions and Yuuri falsely let himself believe more than once that the job might end sooner than scheduled.

He can vaguely hear Viktor, Takeda-san, and the director, who recently joined them, go through a few final things in a weird combination of English and Japanese. The photographer will select the best of the thousands of shots and send them over to Viktor and Yuuri after retouching them for confirmation. The director will make sure the assistants pack up all of Yuuri’s new clothes safely and ship them over to Hasetsu.  Lastly, there's a verbal confirmation of when the first installment of their fees should appear on their bank accounts. By the time Viktor gets to join Yuuri, his face is wiped squeaky clean.

He looks slightly disappointed looking at him. There’s no way Viktor liked his winged eyeliner, right?

"I'm thinking maybe we should incorporate that makeup in your Eros look,” he muses out loud, and damn. He did like it. “You looked like a perfect seductress.”

“ _Viktor._ ” Yuuri would dismiss the idea straight away if his heart wasn't about to fail him.

On a second thought though, anything is an improvement to his Eros performance, and Yuuri isn’t above trying makeup to seduce a stupid bowl of katsudon anymore. At this point, he needs all the flair he can get his hands on.

Viktor contemplates him for a second after he decides to share his logic, but the makeup artist starts scrubbing his face before he can answer.

Yuuri would lie if he said he hated this ethereal-looking Viktor, but he's relieved for two very distinct reasons: one, Viktor’s eyes look deadly with that mascara and Yuuri treasures his life, and two, he desperately hopes the makeup remover will dissolve that plastic smile he's keeping up for Mariko-san.

In the meanwhile, Viktor interviews the girl about Japanese makeup brands, looking for the longest lasting, smudge-proof, sweat-proof—

“Tear-proof,” Yuuri interjects before he realizes what's slipping out of his mouth.

Viktor and Mariko-san look at him in union.

"You never know," he adds forcing his shoulders into a shrug. He's edging on a nervous laughter. "You never know what'll happen, right?"

The girl, to her benefit, doesn't have a reaction, just lists her best picks from the top of her head. Viktor, on the other hand, keeps his eyes trained on him. Yuuri squirms under his watch and pretends he totally knows what primers and finishing sprays are. It’s not like Viktor isn’t familiar with Yuuri’s JSF profile, where Yuuri, in a crazy, anxiety-ridden moment during an interview, declared that his recurring goal is to survive a competition without crying.

A few minutes later, Yuuri finds himself alone with the girl again. Viktor, the privileged person he is, gets to change back to his own clothes. Yuuri, whose full-time job now is to promote Uniqlo, is obliged to stay in his current outfit. At least it's only a simple V-neck shirt made of magically soft, dark grey material and a pair of slim fit black jeans. 

“Let me fix your hair, Katsuki-sama,” Mariko-san says.

“I’m fine like this, but thank you."

Originally, the fringes falling onto his forehead were brushed to the side and fixed in place with gel and spray, but it stubbornly keeps falling back into his face.

"It's the least I can do," the girl insists. "You're going on a date, right?"

“ _What?_ ” Yuuri screeches in untypically high voice. "Who said that?!"

“Nikiforov-sama said you were going out for dinner," she answers with a smile suspiciously similar to Phichit’s when he is up to no good.

“Because we’re hungry, not because we’re… It’s not a date.”

“If that’s what you say,” Mariko-san replies but Yuuri suspects he isn’t being taken seriously. Her smile never disappears.

“Yes,” Yuuri insists. “We’re tourists in Fukuoka and I’ll show him around tomorrow,” he adds for clarification.

“I’m sorry, I must have misunderstood then,” she says, more out of respect than regret. “Nikiforov-sama surprised us all with how touchy he is with you." She gets a comb to smooth his hair out before she curls it around a finger and applies hairspray. She arranges it back over his temple.

Touchy? Yeah, Viktor certainly is touchier than the average Japanese guy, but that's just it: he isn't Japanese. People were unusually touchy in America and that also took some getting used to. Viktor only seems to limit his touchiness to Yuuri, though. Yuuri never thought much about this, probably because he's used to being around foreigners by now.

“He’s—” He clears his throat when his voice comes out raspy. “That’s what they do in Russia,” he explains awkwardly. On a scale from one to ten, how awful is it to blame Viktor’s unexpected volume of touchiness on stereotypical cultural differences? It's one thing to justify it to himself and entirely another to spread it to others.

Viktor chooses that moment to emerge from the tiny changing room and he’s an instant distraction. Yuuri wonders whether it's a genuine coincidence that Viktor's black shirt and grey trousers match Yuuri’s outfit perfectly.

What’s more distracting is the exhaustion that wasn't present three minutes ago, carved deep into the lines of Viktor’s face. It gets under Yuuri’s skin, makes him unexpectedly worried when it’s combined with that pretend-smile stretching his lips into an apologetic shape.

“Excuse my bluntness,” Viktor says, sparing a glance at Mariko-san, who finally seems to be done playing with Yuuri’s hair, “but can we go now?”

His fingers dig into Yuuri’s hip when he puts his arm around him, tugging him gently away from the close proximity of the stylist. His award-winning smile makes him look perfectly at ease, but Yuuri’s the one who lived through a week-long nightmare with him and he knows better. His hand is squeezing Yuuri so hard it's almost uncomfortable; it's to mask the slight shake that would otherwise be obvious. He also knows what the slightly wider than normal eyes mean, and the crack in his voice, and the goosebumps on his arm, and the way his head sags slightly, his fringes covering half of his face.

_He is still not okay_ , he thinks. After this occurs to him, his worry starts multiplying like bacteria. Yuuri’s been balancing on the edge of sanity for a while as well, but he seems to be hanging on better than Viktor. This instinct to protect Viktor kicks in again and suddenly all he wants is to get him out of this studio as soon as possible.

"Thank you for today," he nods towards Mariko-san. The confidence in his voice feels alien and apparently so does to the girl going by the shock on her face. He doesn't care. He glances around the studio; the photographer is gone, and the assistants are busy putting away the equipment, so a general "Great job everyone!" and a "Thank you for your hard work!" is an acceptable enough farewell. A bit on the rude side, but acceptable enough.

"I got your backpack," Viktor says quietly as soon as they get out of sight, onto the corridor between the studio and the reception desk right in front of the elevators.

“Oh. Thank you,” Yuuri mumbles. Viktor threw it over his own shoulder and Yuuri can't get it as long as his arm is attached to Yuuri’s waist. He stops in the middle of a step, his eyes fixed on the floor in front of him.

_What do I do now? What do I say?_

He barely knows how to handle himself when he’s being socially awkward. How is he supposed to know how to handle Viktor? That week, when depression turned Viktor physically sick, was the scariest and most challenging week of Yuuri’s life. He’d do it a thousand more times for Viktor, but god, how he wishes someone threw a manual at him on how to fix Viktor.

_You need a hug_ , he wants to say, but what comes out is “I need a hug!” because that's easier.

Viktor uses surprising force to pull him as close as physically possible, and Yuuri feels safe for the first time since they set foot in this building. He hugs Viktor back just as desperately and he's relieved when he feels Viktor relax against him. He clasps his hands together behind the small of his back, turning the hug into a bone-crushing one.

“I hated today,” he mutters.

“God, yes, me too,” Viktor sighs. He lifts a hand to Yuuri’s neck from his waist, guiding his face into his shoulder and then just resting it there.

Yuuri would snort at the absurdity of Viktor’s blunt honesty if he wasn’t so busy trying to calm his racing heart. He never once heard him complain before. Viktor must be aware of that as well because he starts chuckling. Eventually, they both end up laughing for real. He feels the tension in their bodies escape with it.

“Let’s get out of here,” Viktor says and it’s all Yuuri wants right now too.

The receptionist is busy on the phone so they slip into the elevator unnoticed. They quickly walk past the receptionists down in the atrium sized entrance hall as well and step into the hot, humid, seven-in-the-evening air. The sun is low enough that the buildings surrounding them cast long shadows across the street.

“I thought you said you liked doing photo shoots," Yuuri mentions. That’s what Viktor said when he drilled him about what to expect from today after all.

“Did I?”

The frown on Viktor’s face starts an entire train of thoughts in Yuuri. He puts a stop to it before it can escalate and looks at Viktor hoping that he’ll elaborate.

"Well…" He looks genuinely confused as if he wasn’t thinking about it at all before Yuuri confronted him. “I guess I didn’t realize I changed, huh.”

Should Yuuri say something? Viktor’s compulsion—to what, to make everyone happy? —is giving Yuuri the bad sort of chills, but who is he to confront him about it? Does Viktor realize what he’s doing at all? Should he? He started this conversation, so he needs to answer, but what is the right thing to say?

“Frankly, I can’t imagine anyone honestly enjoying this much attention," is what slips out of his mouth against his better judgment. There you go, Katsuki, thoughtful as always.

It makes Viktor laugh though, a genuine little sound escaping from the back of his throat. He doesn’t react to what Yuuri said in any other way. He decides to change the subject:

“Take me to the restaurant you looked up earlier.”

They fall into steps next to each other as Yuuri leads them down the main street towards the canals.

“We don’t have to go, if—” If Viktor had enough of people staring at him and talking to him like he was from another planet. If he’d rather shut himself in his hotel room with a tray of room service food. “If you’d rather go back to the hotel.”

“No way, I thought you were going to show me how to eat yakiniku," Viktor says with a pout. "Unless you're too tired to take me out, Yuuri.”

“No, no, no, I’m fine. Let’s go then.”

Ugh. Silly Yuuri. Of course, Viktor isn’t an anxious wreck like him. _Stop projecting your own issues onto everyone around you._

He knows just the place for the best yakiniku in town. It’s close to them too, a few streets away on the other side of the canal, so Yuuri steers them that way. It's not some well-known, fancy place, and he loves it exactly for that. He has a spot for family-owned restaurants after all; the food that you get there always tastes different. They come spiced with the love of a parent. That’s why no five-star place will ever make katsudon as his mother does.

Yuuri used to have this illusion before he actually knew Viktor, that he’d only eat the finest foods and drink the finest drinks and enjoy the finest entertainments. Turns out, when Viktor spends his evenings out in Hasetsu, his default choices are Minako’s tiny backstreet bar and Sakamoto-san’s ramen stall instead of the tourist-friendly international cuisine in the town center.

“We’re ditching your diet tonight, right?”

“What?”

Viktor has the weirdest questions sometimes. A lot of the times, Yuuri wonders whether they’re really questions or they're Viktor’s way of jabbing him with critique regarding his training regime. Viktor’s got a surprising arsenal of passive-aggressive comments and Yuuri still doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to them.

“Why?”

“Your diet is unnecessarily strict, and I want you to have fun tonight,” Viktor elaborates with a straight face.

"It's not that strict,” Yuuri protests.

Uh, where is this coming from so suddenly, anyway? Are they seriously talking about this now, when they’re supposed to be sightseeing in Fukuoka?

“I was planning on enjoying dinner tonight,” he says sourly. He did plan to, but his mood certainly plummeted after Viktor’s comment.

He doesn’t expect Viktor to understand Yuuri’s problem. He never had to deal with irremovable extra fat on his body. He's born perfect and only had to maintain that perfection, whereas Yuuri’s born an ugly duckling who has to work hard to fool people into thinking he's a swan.

He presses his lips together. Realistically, he knows he isn’t an ugly duckling anymore, but knowing and believing are two things Yuuri’s never been able to coordinate. It’s better to just do the diet and not worry about the extra layers making his quads even more difficult than they already are.

Viktor’s supposed to be a health geek. When flavored protein powders and breakfast smoothies became a thing, Instagram exploded with his daily photos of rainbow-colored breakfast pictures. He’s supposed to be a good cook too, even though thanks to Yuuri’s mom’s devotion, he doesn’t need to worry about proving it. So, yeah, in hindsight, Yuuri does realize that Viktor probably—okay, very likely—knows what he's talking about, even though he's never been in Yuuri’s shoes.

Still, he really, _really_ doesn’t want to talk about this tonight. Or ever, if possible.

Viktor's hand bumps into his as they walk across the narrow little bridge. Yuuri focuses on that to steer his thoughts away from the unwanted subject. He first thinks it’s accidental—they’re just two people walking close to each other—but then Viktor hooks his fingers around Yuuri’s and squeezes them. It’s become a habit when they’re heading home from the Ice Castle at the end of the day. Yuuri was red as a tomato the first few times, but eventually, it started to feel so right he stopped caring.

"You were blowing everyone's mind away in those clothes earlier," Viktor says quietly. “I really like this outfit on you too."

Yuuri exclaims something in response, god knows what, the first thing his scattered brain comes up with. Then, for good measure, because he hasn’t completely roasted himself yet, adds, “You were mind-blowing too!”

Oh god.

When he shyly glances towards Viktor, the similarly shy smile he sees on his face does funny things to his stomach. Does Viktor maybe think he isn't a complete idiot?

The restaurant they're heading to is right across the bridge. The interior is small and it's crammed with tables. Yuuri and Viktor will have to share a long counter-style table with other people. They have to sit next to each other rather than facing each other, but at least they get the corner seats which gives them a tiny bit of privacy.

The grill is built into the counter between their seats. The waiter takes the lid off and turns it on, the artificial ember heating the air around them almost immediately. Viktor watches it with sparkles in his eyes while the same waiter delivers the platters of thinly sliced raw meat and vegetables they ordered.

Viktor has never been to a restaurant where he had to cook the food himself. It’s alright, Yuuri can’t remember a single place like this in Detroit either. So, Yuuri takes it upon himself to explain Viktor how to get the perfect consistency of the meat: slightly crispy on the outside but still juicy in the inside, and Victor's fascinated with everything he learns.

They’re both too hungry to speak more than that for a while, but when there’s some delicious food in their bellies and Viktor manages to convince Yuuri to help with the sake he ordered, the conversation picks up again.

“It’s great we don’t need to worry about how we’ll finance this season, hmm?” Viktor asks as he piles more pork, along with asparagus, round slices of corn, and mushrooms on the grill with a pair of chopsticks.

God, yes! If there’s one benefit of this entire Uniqlo ordeal, it’s that the money Yuuri gets for it covers the cost of plane tickets, hotel rooms, registration and entry fees for both himself and Viktor, and even a good quality costume to go with his free skate. Skating is an expensive sport after all, and Yuuri hasn’t been doing well enough lately to win significant money. As soon as he’ll be able to wrap his head around the amount he’s getting, he’ll stop being stressed over the ongoing debt he owes to Viktor too.

He used to do part-time jobs back in Detroit to cover as much as possible. His parents were always a call away if he needed financial aid, but the guilt he felt ripping them off was hardly worth asking. He always managed somehow, but mostly because his family stopped waiting for him to ask and sent money anyway. Now, it’s finally Yuuri’s turn to help Yu-Topia.

“Your parents don’t seem to mind, though,” Viktor says contemplatively when Yuuri shares his inner monologue.

“They’re my parents, they’d never let me feel otherwise,” Yuuri disses the idea before Viktor could convince him otherwise.

“Hmm,” Viktor continues in the same tone, his jaw propped on one hand. “It's great to have such nice parents.”

"I'm sorry," Yuuri mumbles. Right. How could he forget that Viktor’s parents basically never supported his choice of career?

“It’s fine,” Viktor answers, but he sounds like it isn’t really fine.

Not all parents are the same, Yuuri reminds himself. He witnessed it first-hand when Viktor’s father let the world know how dissatisfied he was with him moving across the ocean.

Throughout the years, Yuuri’s been wondering how alone Viktor must have felt without siblings or family he could lean on during the hard times or in happiness. Now, let down by Yakov Feltsman too, the question is even more burning. Maybe that's why he reaches out and tentatively puts his left hand over Viktor's right. If he could, he'd give him the entire twenty-four years' backlog of love he received from his family.

“My parents hope you know they’ll always take care of you too.” This is all he can do for him though. It’s in their parents’ blood to care for everyone, but they seem particularly fond of Viktor, especially his mother. Yuuri’s never seen her support any of his other friends the way she supports Viktor.

“They’re fantastic people,” Viktor says. He shifts his eyes from the meat to their joined hands and turns his palm to slip his fingers between Yuuri’s.

Then, his eyes flick to Yuuri’s face and suddenly all he can think about is how impossibly blue they are. Guilt twists like a dagger in his heart; this is probably the last thing Viktor needs right after talking about his family. He should be emotionally supporting him like a decent person instead of killing his last brain cells obsessing over the color of his—

“You look lovely like this,” Viktor says. He uses the hand that Yuuri isn’t clutching to sweep the previously styled but once again unruly locks of hair back in place.

Why, why, why, whywhywhywh—

Viktor can never accept kindness without giving something equally nice in return, Yuuri knows that. Yet, he can't help his tiny, hopeful smile, even though he's still confused about Viktor's attempts at flirting. If he’s flirting. This is flirting, right?

His free hand wanders up to touch his hair too.

Say something. Say something. Yuuri, say something. Thank him for being so nice or ask what hallucinogens he's taking because you obviously need them too. Just say anything.

"No. It’s your eyes. They’re are lovely."

Did he… Of all the embarrassing things he could have said, did he really have to choose this one?

It's fascinating to see the gentle but sort of sad smile on Viktor's face turning into barely disguised shock at first, then— Is that…? Is he blushing? Wait, what? Is Viktor Nikiforov capable of blushing and this is how Yuuri finds out?!

More importantly, is Yuuri not the only embarrassed one in this conversation?

“I’m— Haha! Sorry, I guess you hear this a lot,” he babbles absentmindedly, his brain still processing the expression on Viktor’s face.

“No taking back,” Viktor replies. He runs his fingers through Yuuri’s hair one more time before he pulls back. He squeezes his hand. “You gave me this compliment. It’s mine now.”

The flustered little laughter he lets out sounds like nails scraping on a chalkboard. At least he manages to press out a breathless "Okay," without revealing that he's slowly withering away inside.

Viktor’s affection has been incredibly hard to brush off lately. It was easy to write it off as part of the _Viktor Nikiforov Personality_ he used to fantasize about, but Yuuri has never seen Viktor talk this way to anybody else. Only Yuuri gets to see this part of him, and it rises supremely important questions. Maybe one day he’ll be able to ask them.

“So, you think I have lovely eyes?" Viktor asks.

He rips his hand out of Viktor’s grasp to pour himself a new cup of warm sake and down it like it’s a shot of vodka.

"Well. I mean. Hah. Yeah…" He breaks under Viktor's gaze and admits it in the end. Who in the world doesn't think Viktor has lovely eyes?

He almost expects Viktor to laugh like the guys in Detroit laughed at how easy it was to tease Yuuri into saying something horribly immature, but… Yeah. Of course, Viktor isn’t laughing. Viktor always takes him seriously.

“Funny,” Viktor says. Okay, maybe not. Maybe even Viktor can’t stand this nonsen— "because I think your eyes are lovely too. I never knew I loved chestnuts before I met you."

Umm.

Yuuri drops his gaze to count how many empty bottles of sake they collected so far, and no, not enough to get Viktor thoroughly soaked yet. Especially because Yuuri needs to take credit for half of them.

“Chestnuts,” Yuuri repeats dumbly. The smaller part of him, the one still capable of producing logical questions, is curious where this is coming from.

“Yep,” Viktor agrees. “That’s what I remember from the first time we met. Your warm, chestnut colored eyes.”

“How? You were standing too far away when you offered that photo. You even took me for a fan,” Yuuri says, shocked that Viktor remembers that moment. He tries to ignore the sudden dull ache in his heart, a reminder just how insignificant he was half a year ago.

“No, before that. When I walked into you and almost knocked you over at the back of the rink. On the day of the free skates.”

Oh. Yuuri felt the ghost of Viktor's shoulder colliding with his for days afterward. He was mourning Vicchan so badly he didn’t even know where he was going. He didn’t realize he almost injured Viktor until it was too late. He was mortified until Celestino managed to convince him he was fine.

He never dreamt that Viktor would remember that moment.

Never dreamt that it would be Yuuri’s warm, chestnut colored eyes he would remember either.

No one calls Yuuri’s eyes such nice things.

Except for Viktor, apparently.

Yuuri isn’t stupid. Contrary to popular belief that he is in no rush to dismiss, even though he’s never been in a relationship, he knows he could if he wanted to. People try to pick Yuuri up from time to time. Phichit keeps records and pulls them out to prove points when Yuuri's confidence plummets. But in what realistic universe would Viktor want to flirt with Katsuki Yuuri?

The smell of smoke pulls him back to the present and he hurries to get all the burnt food off the grill with his chopsticks while Viktor scrapes off the rest with a metal thong.

It breaks the moment. The romantic corner of Yuuri’s soul weeps while the rest sighs in relief.

"By the way, it looks like I have to clear something up for you. I knew exactly who you were when I asked for that photo," Viktor says with a soft smile when everything is safely off the fire and is replaced with a fresh batch.

“Oh,” Yuuri mumbles. He keeps himself purposefully busy arranging the inedible charcoal food like it matters what it looks like on a plate. "You did?”

“Wasn't it clear?”

"It was the first time we skated in the same place at the same time and I wasn't memorable, so, I thought you wouldn’t remember.”

“But you were very memorable to me,” Viktor contradicts him.

On better days, Yuuri knows _and believes_ he’s a good skater. On better days, Yuuri knows he wouldn't have qualified for the Finals if he wasn't memorable enough. On most days though, what he thinks and believes is that he's an impostor struck by a sliver of luck that landed him among skaters with far more talent than he would ever possess.

On better days, he knows that Viktor Nikiforov, best skater in the world and multiple record holder, is perfectly capable of recognizing an impostor when he sees one. And he's still with Yuuri, even though Yuri Plisetsky presented him with the perfect opportunity to ditch him and go back home.

“I wish you knew how to accept a compliment when you get one, Yuuri,” Viktor says out of nowhere. Yuuri flinches. He dares a glance at Viktor from under his eyelashes and he realizes that even though the words are harsh, his face is really, really soft.

“I know.” There’s a lump in Yuuri’s throat.

“You’re a fantastic skater, Yuuri. And a wonderful dancer, the kindest person, and the most adorable man. What can possibly invalidate all of this in your mind?”

Can Yuuri run away? Is that socially acceptable when an answer is required? His head is loud as an ambulance when the sirens go off, but instead of taking Yuuri to the hospital to heal his shoddy brain, it drives him off the edge of a cliff.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, and he sounds even more pathetic than before. “I don’t know.”

It isn't even entirely true. Pretending to be clueless is easier than trying to explain what a weirdo he is. Words are sometimes just words, and Yuuri often finds it difficult to tell the difference between a white lie and a genuine compliment. Maybe that's why Yuuri never managed to be the skater he knew he had the potential to be under Celestino’s supervision. He was always first in line to praise, but the actions paired with his words didn’t align a lot of times. He’s the perfect coach for Phichit, who lives for verbal encouragement, but Yuuri… Yuuri needed something else. Someone else.

“That’s alright,” Viktor says softly. “We can work on that. Like with your Salchow. We’ll drill you until you’re able to believe in it.”

“My confidence isn’t a Quad Salchow,” he says quietly.

"Isn't it, really?" Viktor quirks an eyebrow as he sips more sake. As soon as another two fresh bottles arrive, he refills Yuuri’s cup too.

“Landing a Quad Axel would be easier than believing in me," he confesses under his nose.

"Hmm." Viktor appears deep in his thoughts for a few moments before he says, "I think you’re underestimating yourself."

Yuuri downs the sake against his better judgment. He knows things will get embarrassing if he drinks too much, but it’s also easier to tolerate his insecurities when he’s got some alcohol buzzing in his blood.

“So,” he starts slowly. “If you were my confidence coach, not just my skating coach, how would you make me believe?”

“Your problem is that you’re dissing praises without even considering where they’re coming from. For example, your eyes. Why do you think it’s absurd that I find them pretty?”

Yuuri tries, he really tries to come up with a good answer, but the only answer he has is a shrug.

“Okay. Why do you think mine are pretty but yours aren't?"

Because they’re fucking intoxicating, bluer than anything Yuuri’s ever seen, including the sea in Hasetsu on a sunny summer day.

“My entire family has grey or blue eyes. There’s no one in Team Russia who has dark eyes either. I spend the majority of my time with these people, so brown isn’t a common sight, right? For me, brown is exotic. I notice the different shades of browns because I pay more attention to them than to blues. The shade of chestnut brown you got here is ridiculous, Yuuri. I’ve yet to find a match.”

It makes sense, but also, _what the hell_? Did Viktor just praise his eyes through an entire paragraph and also gave a totally valid reason for doing so?

The thought that Viktor might be as addicted to Yuuri’s plain brown eyes as Yuuri is to his blue ones is ridiculous, but. _But._

“Thank you,” he answers bashfully. The tender look he gets in return makes him feel funny things.

"See, easy." Viktor winks. He turns the food on the grill before they burn like the previous batch.

Talking becomes easier after this. They run out of food soon enough and they put a stop to the flood of sake too. Later, while Viktor’s paying, Yuuri finds himself staring at his own reflection in the restroom mirror above the sinks.

He inspects his eyes that are almost identical to his mom's. It's a strange revelation because he profoundly remembers thinking no-one had eyes more beautiful than her as a little boy. Viktor loves these eyes. _Viktor loves his eyes._ He marvels at the small smile creeping onto his face.

Yuuri never thought about relationships as an adult. As a child, he fantasized he’d one day marry Yuuko, make it big as skaters, and buy the Ice Castle with all the money they win. As a teenager, he fantasized that Viktor, a senior skater already, would miraculously attend the junior worlds, fall in love with Yuuri at first sight, move him to St Petersburg to train with Yakov, and live happily ever after. As an adult, Yuuri was too busy chasing an impossible dream to notice the world around him.

The rare times adult Yuuri allowed himself to fantasize, the only recurring person in his dreams was Viktor. But that's not the reason why he never wanted a relationship. No, that had a lot more to do with how everything and everyone was somehow less important than his training schedule. He also wore his lack of self-love and feebleness as an armor around his heart, pushing everyone forcefully away who came at it with a knight's sword.

He lived his life in content ignorance until Viktor barged into it and turned it upside-down.

And _Viktor staye_ d. He isn't a fantasy anymore. He's a flesh and blood human being, Yuuri’s coach, Yuuri’s _friend_. A person he actually likes, way more than he ever liked the idol in the magazine cut-outs and illegal video downloads. A person who managed to get under his skin, build a home there, and stay without making Yuuri uncomfortable. The only other persons ever able to do that were Yuuko and Phichit.

Viktor is so different from how he imagined him. He makes Yuuri feel new things, things he doesn't know what to call yet. All he knows is that when he's able to ease the anxious squeeze in his stomach, he likes what he feels.

Yuuri wants to believe everything Viktor says because he deserves to be believed, and also because maybe Yuuri deserves to be able to believe too.

Someone pushes the door open and stalks inside with single-minded determination, making a bee-line for one of the toilet stalls. It reminds Yuuri that there’s a world outside this restroom and Viktor has every reason to be pissed because Yuuri’s been talking forever in here.

He doesn’t see the silver-haired head at the entrance, but he does find one back where they sat in the past hour.

“I thought we were done drinking,” Yuuri mumbles when he sits back down next to Viktor and finds the table cleared of their dirty dishes. There’s a new bottle of warm sake and two cups.

“We were,” Viktor shrugs with a smile that tugs on Yuuri’s guts. “But you were taking too long, and I had enough of people staring at me.”

Sometimes it sucks to be a foreigner in this country.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ll forgive you,” Viktor says with a nod as he pushes a cup directly in front of Yuuri. “Drink with me.”

“I had enough already,” he protests, eyeing the liquid sloshing in the dangerously full cup. Magically, it doesn’t spill.

“You clearly haven’t. You still know how to complain,” Viktor says with the conviction of someone who thinks he knows what an earnestly drunk Katsuki Yuuri is like.

“It’s better this way,” Yuuri mumbles.

“Why?”

Yuuri is an awful drunk. He dances like a maniac, his mouth runs unfiltered, and worst of all, he attaches himself to anyone resembling Viktor Nikiforov like a sticker. Getting wasted _with_ the actual Viktor has to be the worst idea in the world, crafted with care in the deepest pit of hell.

But Yuuri can’t say this, so he just gapes in response like a fish.

“Exactly,” Viktor nods as if Yuuri’s silence is an answer. "Come on, don't you think we're good drinking buddies?”

Yuuri won't be able to give Viktor a piggyback ride to their hotel, but he can’t ignore how easy it is to act normal around him with a bit of alcohol mixing with his blood. It was so nice being around Viktor after the Onsen on Ice wrapped up and they were celebrating on the beach. Maybe a cup or two more won't be the end of the world.

The big revelation comes two bottles later: it’s one thing that the two of them get along unexpectedly well, and entirely another that sharing drinks with Viktor is widely unlike sharing with anyone else. Yuuri’s been in bars with his acquaintances from the university and has been invited to a number of house parties, and it’s just so _nice_ that Viktor doesn't try to kiss him or get his pants off or point out any of the silly stuff he's doing with his guard lowered. Instead, they're listening in on a heated argument of several businessmen a few seats away, they're cooing over the cute dogs being fed under the tables, and they're at the point where every random idea seems like the best idea.

The great ideas keep coming on the way back to their hotel as well, with their elbows hooked to avoid accidents and with Viktor's breath on Yuuri's cheek when he laughs.

They pass a capsule hotel and Viktor declares that they're one of the most fascinating things he discovered about Japan so far.

“They’re the most uncomfortable things in the world, believe me,” Yuuri says because Viktor has never actually been in one.

“They do have beds though, right? That puts them above manga cafés and their weird reading cubicles on my scale of comfiness,” Viktor says with the seriousness of someone who knows what he's talking about.

“Hard to believe coming from a guy who gets the largest suites in the hotels he’s staying in. You do that, right?” Yuuri’s tongue forms the question faster than he can control it and he clasps his hands over his mouth to shut himself up.

He’s staring at Viktor with widening eyes. The evening he showed up in his home, he swore he was never going to ask whether the obviously fake articles he had read about him were true or not.

Viktor bursts out laughing and Yuuri relaxes in relief. He's swaying just a tiny bit and holds onto Yuuri’s shoulder for extra support.

"What would I need such a huge room for? A regular-size room is lonely enough. Honestly, a hole in the wall sounds perfectly fine."

Yuuri acknowledges the info that Viktor finds hotel rooms lonely and stores it for later when his mind is coherent and more capable of processing it.

Viktor raises an eyebrow in challenge, and oh no. Sober Yuuri doesn’t like challenges, but drunk Yuuri lives for them.

“I bet you wouldn’t last the night,” he answers with another challenge.

Viktor tightens his elbow around him and drags him straight inside, determinedly making his way towards the reception desk.

"Wow, amazing!" he exclaims while he strains his neck to have a proper look around. "Honestly, Yuuri, this looks posher than the Four Seasons in St Petersburg!”

Yuuri rolls his eyes. Cheap glamour. It’s such a Japanese thing, but it tricks the tourists right; fake marble floor, fake gold paint on the ornamented walls, fake metallic finish on the counters, fake mirror sticker on the wall behind the receptionists… He doubts even the flowers in the vases are real.

"Why would you know," he mumbles under his breath. "I thought you said you didn't care for fancy hotels."

“Yuuuuri,” Viktor gasps. “You’re mean.” Then, “Get us a capsule, sweetheart.”

“ _Hi!_ ” Yuuri says more vehemently than planned and refuses to think about how Viktor called him a sweetheart. “We’d like _two capsules_ for the night if possible.” Viktor obviously has no idea about capsule hotel etiquette. He probably doesn’t understand when Yuuri specifically asks for two capsules with two separate beds, because he keeps referring to one shared capsule when attempting Japanese with the staff. Or maybe he does understand, he just chooses to ignore it because he's very into sharing beds with Yuuri. His language skills are from another solar system, who really knows how much Japanese he picked up—"

"Do you prefer your capsules close to each other?" The receptionist asks.

“Sure.”

They receive keycards with their capsule numbers printed on them. They're also welcome to grab miniature bars of soap, tiny tubes of toothpaste, and cheap wooden toothbrushes along with floor maps and copies of the house rules printed in Japanese, Chinese, Korean, and English.

“Wow,” Viktor mutters as he skims through the page. “We’re supposed to be real quiet. And clean. And only sleep in our assigned capsules.” He loops his elbow around Yuuri’s arm again and pulls him towards the door leading to the hotel corridors where the lockers and the showers are marked to be.

 The lockers are numbered clearly so it’s easy to find them. They kick their shoes off and grab the pajamas and towels that come complimentary, and then Viktor’s pulling on Yuuri’s arm again.

“You don’t want to shower?” Yuuri asks in disbelief as Viktor drags him away from the door leading to the stalls. Showers are mandatory.

“Nah, too tired. We can shower in the morning.”

Their capsules, numbers 57 and 58, are right on top of each other. They’re no more than holes, two of many in the same wall. All of them have their curtains closed so it’s impossible to tell if there’s anyone else sleeping nearby.

Viktor automatically climbs to take the top one, so Yuuri dives for the bottom one. That is until Viktor catches him under his armpits, very similarly to how he once pulled Yuuri out of the back pool in the onsen, only now he’s pulling him up into his bed.

“Sleep with me,” Viktor says. He’s using that coachly voice which Yuuri’s physically unable to refuse, so he climbs inside obediently.

“Oh my god, we’re breaking every rule on the list,” Yuuri whimpers quietly and realizes with newfound shock that he's panicking out of habit. He isn’t actually scared or scandalized. _It must be the sake's doing_ , he thinks.

“Not if they don’t find out,” Viktor whispers with a wink. He leans over the edge of the bed and drops both of their pajamas and towels on Yuuri’s, then makes sure both curtains properly cover their beds.

The space is impossibly narrow, even narrower than Yuuri’s single bed at home. Also, the top of the capsule is so low Viktor can’t sit straight. They barely fit in here.

Suddenly, Yuuri’s very aware of how little space they have. While he’s once again trying to decide whether he’s panicking the bad or the good way, Viktor lays on the mattress and starts playing with the adjustable lights, dimming them to near darkness, then back to bright, then back to dim with the buttons on a panel beside his head. He turns on the overhead TV next. A late night dorama is playing silently and Yuuri can’t help thinking how his mom loves the actor on the screen.

"Wow, Kimura Takuya is really getting old," he says.

“Who?” Viktor asks and looks at the screen, although he doesn’t seem half as interested as Yuuri.

He’s also tugging on the back of Yuuri’s shirt until he gets him laying half on the mattress and half on top of him.

“Not important,” Yuuri says in the end, because who cares about his mother’s innocent crush when his own crush is lying here right underneath him.

He’s awfully, horribly, torturously aware of how personal this is. Not particularly the sleeping together part, or the laying on top of Viktor part, because they've done both before, but combined with the very limited space they have with no room for any privacy, it’s very intimate.

“How much alcohol do I need to put into you to make you stop thinking?” Viktor asks quietly.

He turns on his side carefully, forcing Yuuri to do the same and to face Viktor. 

“Phichit says eight shots of tequila or five of those herbal liqueurs, you know, that German brand. The name's a tongue twister, I can't pronounce it."

“Or sixteen flutes of champagne,” Viktor sighs.

Yuuri shrugs. He isn’t fond of champagne—although it’s better than wine—so he wouldn’t know.

“If I have to drink anything, I prefer beer or cocktails, to be honest,” he says. Beer, because he can pretend to have had half a dozen cans while still sipping on the first one, and cocktails because dangerous as they are, at least they taste good.

The frame of his glasses presses into his face uncomfortably, so he removes them and carefully hangs them on the edge of the flat screen above them.

“How about sake?”

Yuuri shrugs again. “I haven’t drunk myself into oblivion with that yet. It’s too embarrassing in front of my family.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for the future.”  There’s that fondness in Viktor’s voice and in his eyes as he watches Yuuri.

"I'm not planning on changing that," Yuuri adds for good measure.

“Alright.”

“How about you?” Yuuri asks softly, partly to steer the subject away from himself and partly because Viktor’s drinking habits unsettle him sometimes.

“I don’t do well with whiskey. Also, that stuff Minako gives me is very strong.”

“Shochu?” Yuuri guesses.

“That’s the one.”

“You seem to enjoy drinking.”

It’s Viktor’s turn to shrug now. “It’s a way to pass time, I guess.”

The signs are painfully obvious. They have been for a while if Yuuri wants to be completely honest, but it took him some time to get past the initial shock: the five times world champion, who everyone thinks is a social butterfly and has more friends than the rest of the skaters combined, hangs out in bars alone. 

“I’ll have to make sure you have other things to pass time with, then,” he huffs.

“Yeah?” Viktor asks. His eyes are searching Yuuri’s.

“Yeah.”

Viktor’s hand that isn’t tucked under his cheek slides on top of Yuuri’s, squeezing it just so.

“You keep saying you don’t like to drink, but you aren’t hard to convince to do so. Why?” Viktor asks next.

“I really try not to.” It’s the thing Yuuri always says, another layer of his defensive system. It's also an excuse when someone tries to invite him for something.

“But when you do,” Viktor insists.

"I know I'm socially awkward. I'm okay with that, but sometimes it really sucks. It sucks to always be the lame guy who isn't able to connect with the rest. Also, I guess I drink when I feel crap. I'm an awful actor. I can't pretend everything is fine when it isn't."

“Never even try to pretend everything is fine in front of me, okay?”

“Okay,” Yuuri murmurs. It’s so easy to agree to anything Viktor wants when the light from the TV hits his eyes in just the right angle and they sparkle like a pair of aquamarines.

“Sorry, I need to get up for a sec,” Viktor mutters suddenly, squirming. “I can’t sleep in jeans, they’re too uncomfortable.”

Yuuri pretends he isn’t looking while Viktor shimmies out of them. He definitely isn’t looking when he bends over the edge of the bed again to drop them into Yuuri’s unused capsule either. The image of tight, surprisingly small black briefs barely covering half of his ass will not be burned into Yuuri’s memories for the next couple of centuries either.

He flicks his eyes at the TV when Viktor straightens up. Kimura Takuya’s dorama is over and a Suzuki commercial is playing.

"Do you want to keep watching?" Viktor asks as he turns back around and glances at the screen too.

“Nope, no,” Yuuri says. He hopes he doesn’t sound like the perv he knows he is, whose eyes were glued to Viktor Nikiforov’s half-bare ass a second ago.

"Great." And with that, Viktor switches the TV off with a flick of his finger and turns off the lights too. The only source of light after that is whatever little filters through the black curtain.

Yuuri’s on his back now. He barely has time to remember Viktor needs a bit of space when his head lands on Yuuri’s chest. His body is literally squeezed into whatever little space there is left between Yuuri and the wall.

Viktor exhales loudly. Is it Yuuri’s imagination or does he really sound content like this? Or is he just amused because he can probably hear Yuuri’s rapid heartbeats through the thin layer of his shirt? If he hears it, he doesn’t comment on it.

It’s so quiet now that the only reason Yuuri knows Viktor's still awake is that he's playing with the hem of Yuuri’s sleeve.

“Are you going to sleep in your jeans?” He asks out of nowhere.

“Excuse me?” The question is involuntary and Yuuri can’t help it. Did Viktor think he’d strip too?

"No offense, but they're pretty rough on my legs. Not very comfy at all."

“Capsule hotels aren’t supposed to be comfy,” Yuuri squeaks defensively.

“It’s not the hotel’s fault that your jeans are scraping the skin off my legs.”

“No, it’s the fault of your questionable taste in fashion. You chose them, remember?” Yuuri shoots before he thinks.

They gasp at the same time, Viktor in amusement and Yuuri in horror. Viktor perches up on an elbow to look at him, and Yuuri thinks his eyes glow in the dark like a cat’s.

Self-defense, that's what this was. That's his only excuse.

“Yuuuuri, I can’t believe you said this,” Viktor presses out between two chuckling fits.

“I’m so sorry,” Yuuri practically cries.

“No way, I love it when your filter is off. We should go out and drink together more often.”

“That’s such a bad idea.”

“Take off your pants. I’m not going to lose this bet because you’re stubborn.”

What is Yuuri supposed to say to that? He's an advocate of fair play. What's his problem anyway? Viktor has seen him in less than his underwear before, so this shouldn't be such a big deal. Honestly, between the two of them, it isn’t going to be Yuuri with his butt on display.

_But it’s too intimate_ , his brain supplies unhelpfully. If he leaves his jeans on though, he’ll look exactly like the weirdo he’s trying not to be.

“Yeah, okay, one sec,” he mumbles.

He shakes as he undoes the belt and shakes when he pulls down the zipper. He also shakes as he pulls the pants off and climbs all the way to the end of the bed to drop them on the mattress below. He still shakes when he climbs up to the single pillow and lays back down so Viktor can also return to the position with his head on Yuuri’s breastbone.

“Are you cold?” Viktor asks after a little while. “We can pull the blanket over you.”

“I’m not cold. Why?" Quite the opposite, actually. His cheeks are burning.

“You’re trembling.”

Oh. Is it so bad even Viktor notices?

“I’m fine,” he manages to press out.

"Remember when you promised you wouldn't act fine when you weren't?"

“I remember,” Yuuri admits. It surprises him that _Viktor_ does. Apart from Phichit and his family, he never knew anyone who was this interested in boring little Yuuri. “I…” he trails off. “I’ve—” Take a breath. It’s not like Viktor doesn’t already know this, so what's the point being scared? "I don't usually sleep with people like this. This is so p— personal.”

There. He said it. This feeling, this intimacy has been bugging him for a while. Not just today, but since the first time Viktor invaded his personal space as if there were no boundaries.

“I’m lucky that I’m the first, then. Thank you,” Viktor says, and he’s so _nice_ about it Yuuri almost cries.

“You don’t have to be so nice,” he mutters.

“Why not if I mean it?”

“Oh?”

Viktor sneaks his left hand up onto Yuuri’s shoulder and gently holds on. His right arm curls around his torso and disappears between Yuuri’s shoulder blade and the mattress.

“Relax, Yuuri. I like my pillows softer.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

Viktor sighs and Yuuri follows him. He pulls up the memory of a simple meditating session from the app he's subscribed to and goes through the steps to relax his muscles one after another. 

“There you go,” Viktor mumbles drowsily some minutes later. He doesn’t say anything else after that, so Yuuri assumes he fell asleep.

He continues the meditation because he’d love to sleep at one point as well, but the day was too eventful. The numbers counting his breaths keep turning into flashbacks: Viktor's pretend-smile, his detachment from the rest of the people, getting overwhelmed by them and begging to get out, slowly easing up as they walk the streets, his childish interest in yakiniku, his drinking habits, his crush on Yuuri’s eyes, ignoring Japanese etiquette to share a capsule with Yuuri… clinging to Yuuri, trusting Yuuri, using Yuuri as a pillow.

The list is so overwhelming his muscles tighten right back up. Viktor isn’t awake to complain, so he doesn’t fight it so desperately anymore. He turns his chin to the side and down as far as he can and tries to steal a glance at Viktor’s face, but all he sees is shiny locks of silvery hair.

It’s the softest thing in the world, so Yuuri runs his fingers through it knowing that Viktor isn’t around to be self-conscious about his non-existent bald patch. The idea of an insecure Viktor used to feel as absurd as the idea of a confident Yuuri, and it took him a tremendous amount of practice to stop projecting the image the hardcore fanboy version of himself created through the years onto him.

He's as real as Yuuri is and he isn’t alright. He’s broken in ways Yuuri’s never been and has no idea how to fix. He desperately wishes he had the power to do so though. Yuuri isn’t the best person to rely on, but he swears that as long as Viktor wants his help, he'll do his best.

 

* * *

 

The capsule hotel doesn’t offer breakfast, so after quickly fixing themselves in the shower and pulling out fresh clothes from their backpacks, they tumble into the neighboring Starbucks where Viktor insists on trying the most ridiculous looking pastries, including matcha flavored American scones, ultraviolet colored slices of cheesecake, slices of sakura chiffon cake that must be old stock since it's months after the cherry blossom season, and artfully decorated cupcakes that are a sin to ruin.

They’re so delicious Yuuri almost cries.

He also almost cries because he thinks about the number of laps he’ll have to do around Hasetsu Castle to burn the three thousand calories these surely are. Viktor contemplates him from over his venti cup of soya cappuccino but keeps his opinion to himself.

“What are we doing today?” he asks instead.

"I was thinking, since we don't have a full day if we want to catch the last train, maybe it's best to go to Uminonakamichi.”

“To the inside of the sea?” Viktor directly translates the name of the place into English, confused.

“It’s a park, it’s called Uminonakamichi because it’s like a natural pier dividing the bay around the town from the open sea. It’s got beautiful gardens and a Ferris wheel, a zoo, a marine park, and lots of other things.”

“I’m sold.”

 

* * *

 

It’s strange how Yuuri has friends from years ago with whom he still isn’t able to act like himself, and then there's Viktor, who he got to know only three months ago, but by the end of the day feels like a long-lost childhood friend. The realization is shocking. This is the first time they spend an entire day together not training, but just hanging out and talking about absolutely anything that doesn’t involve skating. It’s the first time he really sees what Viktor’s like when he’s having fun.

Yuuri doesn’t talk about random stuff with just anyone. In Detroit, he used to be the total bore who didn’t even know what the difference was between football and that other sport the Americans call football. So, it’s baffling that apart from Phichit, Viktor is the second friend (friend!!!) he can tell absolutely anything because he doesn’t have to worry he sounds stupid.

He’s having fun too. He finds himself telling jokes Viktor genuinely enjoys, doing silly things he’d usually find too embarrassing to even consider, and following Viktor’s equally ridiculous ideas without second-guessing himself. They rent bikes and race through the entire length of the park, he lets Viktor make him a crown out of wildflowers, they queue for the Ferris wheel five times in a row, and he doesn't mind when Viktor insists on taking a selfie on the highest point with the gorgeous view at the park in the background. They ride the roller coaster and scream from the top of their lungs, feed ducks and koi fish in every lake they pass, envy the people who brought swimwear to enjoy the largest pool on this side of Japan, and point out every doggo passing the bench they’re eating lunch at.

They don’t check the aquarium and the zoo because they both hate animals in captivity, and this leads to the best conversation Yuuri’s had about Japanese whale hunting after Viktor tells him the situation is almost as bad in Russia.

Yuuri marvels at how easy it is to be himself around Viktor. It's been a very long process, he knows that, and this trip to Fukuoka is just the culmination of the hard work he put into trying to ease up. Viktor’s genuinely interested in him. He seems to like what he sees in Yuuri. He doesn’t always agree with what Yuuri’s thinking or doing, but he doesn’t make him feel bad about it. He's just curious and wants to understand. And suddenly, Yuuri finds himself wanting him to understand as well.

Yuuri’s getting giddy with this feeling of security and happiness around him. He thought Phichit was the sole exception on this planet, but now he's hopeful.

It’s the kind of happiness that makes the butterflies in his stomach even more excited.

He loves the day so much it feels like it rushes past him in double speed; the only thing anchoring him to the reality of space and time is Viktor's hand in his, or around his elbow, or his waist, or on his shoulder.

He hates getting on the train when the sun goes down. He doesn't want to wake up tomorrow and find himself back in a world where awkwardness is normal.

“Is something wrong?” Viktor asks from across the seat when the last lights of the lively city disappear from their sight.

“I wish we could stay longer,” Yuuri admits.

“I had a lot of fun too,” Viktor replies. “Thank you for today.”

He’s talking in Japanese, and it’s an obvious line from Kimura Takuya’s dorama that ran last night. Did Viktor pick this up from there? It’s such a typical thing to say in romantic anime and dorama.

“We’ll have to come back,” Yuuri promises. “There’ll be the Hakata Gon Yamakasa festival, the Nishinihon Ohori fireworks, and then the Hojoya festival this summer. Maybe we can go to all three of them.”

“I’d love to.” Viktor’s got stars in his eyes even though he has no idea what Yuuri’s inviting him to.

Yuuri has never been a festival loving person; there were always more people there than he’d have liked. He used to go to the local ones in Hasetsu, mostly because his family forced him to promote the onsen to the tourists visiting the events. He'd hand out bite-sized food on wooden trays to people passing by. As a reward, he could join Yuuko and Takeshi in the evenings with a pocketful of coins to spend on games and at the food stands. His grandparents used to take him and Mari to the fireworks in Ohori Park, but that was slightly different and the tradition stopped when his grandpa grew too old to travel anyway.

“Don’t lose yourself in your head yet,” Viktor says gently, and it takes Yuuri a moment to realize he switched seats to sit next to him.

“I think I’m crashing,” he answers. He means to add it’s because he’s exhausted from being around a lot of people in the park, but the words are stuck in his throat. He forces them to come out anyway, because Viktor deserves complete transparency, no matter how exposed it leaves Yuuri. He can trust Viktor. “Too many people today and yesterday.”

Still, out of habit, he half-expects Viktor to pull up an eyebrow and ask what he means by that, as most everyone without an inkling about how social anxiety works would. Yuuri isn't sure Viktor has a full understanding of anxiety either, but he blindly accepts everything Yuuri can offer without complaining.

“Am I being too much right now?” He asks softly, his hand holding Yuuri’s.

“No,” he answers quietly, wrapping his fingers around Viktor’s in return.

At one point, Yuuri rests his head against the window and sends a quick text to let Mari know what time they’ll be home (in an hour) and how hungry they'll be (very). Viktor gets a notebook out and scribbles something with his eyebrows knotting together in concentration.

Yuuri doesn’t want to disturb him, but he’s curious. He strains his eyes to see what he’s doing. He’s drawing a series of tiny stick figures with their arms and legs bent this way and that. If they were animated, the movements would be consecutive, flowing. Like a dance.

Could this be how Viktor choreographs?

“Is this going to be my free skate?” he whispers, voice low enough to give Viktor the option to pretend he didn’t hear him if that’s what he prefers. Yuuri’s invading his privacy after all.

“We’ll be choreographing that together, Yuuri,” Viktor answers with his softest smile, “This is something else.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know yet. For now, it’s a mood I want to remember.”

The figures take up two pages and if they really were animated, Yuuri estimates they’d run for fifteen seconds.

Viktor turns a page and draws a couple of horizontal lines. Yuuri has no idea what they are until Viktor starts adding musical notes to them. It's an equally insane and lazy, simplified score with only the bottom and top lines of the staffs drawn in. Yet, Viktor seems to know exactly where to place the notes.

Yuuri hears the music he writes in his head. Is Viktor coming up with it right now, in the middle of a train ride? Does Viktor even know how to write music?

His thoughts must be showing on his face because Viktor smiles when he looks up and finds Yuuri ogling.

“My nannies taught me to play the piano,” he explains.

Oh. Yuuri didn’t know this. Viktor never mentioned this in interviews.

“I’m making ears bleed,” he continues, “and I only remember simple stuff, but it’s useful when I have to explain what kind of music I’m looking to commission.”

“You want to commission this,” Yuuri wants to ask. It doesn't come out as a question. He can hear the notes in his head. They make a pretty music.

“Maybe. You, on the other hand, play the piano excellently, right? You’re a qualified teacher.”

"We can try it on my portable keyboard if that's what you want. Or on Minako-sensei's real piano in her studio."

“Yuuri, that would be fantastic!" The tight hug Viktor gives him feels like the most comfortable thing in the world.

 

* * *

 

Minako-sensei and Celestino spoiled Yuuri so much that he has zero idea how much effort goes into choreographing a piece. And not only that but a personal, intimate piece at that. He didn't pay attention to Minako-sensei because he was too young and busy nailing down the necessary technicalities that gained him more points, and later on, when he got more insight through Celestino, it looked like his ex-coach pulled the programs off a dusty shelf, pre-made and ready to hand out to whoever needed them.

Only now, when, for the first time in his life, he gets to perform something great, something _important_ on the ice, does he realize how much energy and how much trust goes into it. When he introduced the music he commissioned to Viktor, he didn’t realize he’d eventually have to talk about the dark past he’d rather erase from everyone’s memory. He didn’t even think Viktor wanted to go so deep to understand Yuuri.

“Take your time,” Viktor says softly. “We’ve got the entire evening.”

His free skate music is playing quietly on Viktor’s phone. Viktor got his leg pulled up and his heels firmly planted on Yuuri’s mattress, a notebook balanced between his spread knees. Yuuri, sitting right next to him and taking up a lot less space with his arms hugging his knees close to his chest, takes another long breath.

“I don’t know how to start,” he admits.

He knows Viktor enough by now to realize no matter how awful his story will get, Viktor won't judge him. He knows he won't pity him as everyone else would, knows he'd take every word seriously and try to make Yuuri see his past as something impressive. Still. It's so difficult, especially because Viktor is so deeply involved in it in more than one way.

He’s glad it’s Viktor sitting here with him, but it still feels a lot worse than any interview he’s done with Morooka-san.

“Let me start then.” Viktor reaches out and gets the conversation going. “I already have an idea about your timeline from Minako and Yuuko.”

Yuuri nods along, because… yeah. That’s pretty much public knowledge, not what Yuuri’s mainly worried about.

“Okay.”

“You first skated when you were six, right?”

Yuuri nods.

“Minako took you to the Ice Castle to conserve your love for ballet. She knew you wouldn’t make it as a pro in case you wanted to pursue a career in dancing.”

“Right.”

“You loved skating, but you didn’t consider professional training until you saw me at Junior Worlds. You made it to your first competition without a real coach. That's when one, based in Fukuoka, offered a spot in his schedule, right? Three times a week. You stayed with him until you made it into the senior circle at… eighteen?"

“Yes,” Yuuri nods.

“That’s only six years of proper training. That’s very impressive, Yuuri. I took my first class from Yakov at six and needed ten years of make it to the seniors.”

"But you made it at sixteen. I almost didn't make it at all."

"That's not the point though, is it?”

“No…”

“So, you made it into the seniors and needed to look for a new coach, right? The one in Fukuoka only trained juniors.” Yuuri nods along. “You graduated from high school and decided to continue studying wherever you found someone with experience coaching top athletes. That was Celestino Cialdini in Detroit. So, you started to make your way up in ISU sanctioned competitions and you had some very impressive results. I’ve seen your medals and trophies from several Asian Opens, Finlandia Trophies, Autumn Classics, and US Classics among other things. You’ve been at Four Continents before you qualified for the Grand Prix for the first time last year.”

"Yes. I was invited to the NHK Trophy a few times after Ige Hideo retired, but I never seemed to leave an impression.”

“So, how did you earn the nickname, Japan’s Ace?”

“Without Hideo, I became the only Japanese male senior figure skater,” Yuuri shrugs. “There was no one else to give that title to.”

The skepticism Viktor's watching Yuuri with is so apparent it makes Yuuri uncomfortable.

“This is beside the topic,” he says, “but I feel like I need to make sure you understand nicknames aren’t handed out like that? I’m pretty sure no one would call Georgi a Living Legend even if he was the five times world champion, not me. A nickname is something your fans come up with that fits you rather than you having to mold yourself until you fit their nickname.”

Yuuri nods. Yeah, that makes sense if he thinks about it.

“So, here’s the thing. I watched all of your programs available online. Yes,” he adds when Yuuri can’t help an involuntary screech. “I did. Your musicality and your ability to express emotions through your body have always been your strongest point, but let's assume you won the medals and trophies your mother proudly displays in the restaurant because your spins and jumps are superb when they're perfect. So how come you were never part of the Grand Prix apart from the NHK Trophy until last year?"

“I guess my spins and jumps were never perfect enough.”

“You don’t need perfect spins or jumps to be seeded into the Prix.”

Yuuri shrugs.

“This is the important part of the conversation, Yuuri," Viktor says. "You don't want your free skate to basically be a dry recital of a resume. You want the people watching you know how you _felt_ fighting your emotions to get where you are right now, yes?”

"Competitions are scary,” he confesses. It’s the first time he admits it directly, without waltzing around the words and making them sound nicer or less impactful. "I guess I’m always so scared I’ll fail that I start believing it. Self-fulfilling prophecies or whatever they call them. I never do well under pressure.”

“What’s pressuring you? Were you feeling guilty because of your parents? Because they were helping you fund your career?”

“That as well, but no, mostly I—” Yuuri has to gulp to ease the thick feeling forming in his throat. “My dream was— You know, since you were my favorite skater, I wanted to meet you? And I set these conditions, told myself that there was only one way to meet you, otherwise it wouldn’t count, and that was—” his breath shakes, and he really, really, _really_ doesn’t want to cry, “on the podium, next to you.”

There's a small smile playing on Viktor's lips.

“I know,” he says, and his voice is so kind the dam almost breaks. “So now, that we’ve met and we’re better friends than podium buddies can ever be, what?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri says. “I guess I’ll have to figure it out when the season starts. I’m sure I’ll come up with something else to stress about.”

"That's not the attitude I like," Viktor sighs, but there's no real apprehension in his voice. "So how does this work? How does the stress ruin your performances?"

“Because I’ve never been consistent with my quads, I sort of make them be the terrible murderer at the end of a horror story. And if I fail to land one, I'll fail on the next and the next and the one after as well...”

Viktor starts a new page and writes this down, then goes back to the lengthy note on their free skate ideas.

“Which ones of these emotions would you like to show in your free skate?”

“Umm,” Yuuri needs a moment to think. His throat is easing back up. Thank god he isn’t going to start crying. “The new music is happier than the original, so I think it would be better to focus on the good things?”

“I agree,” Viktor says. “It also feels counterproductive to skate about stress when we’ll be trying to avoid that feeling altogether. Also, I think since you can’t change what already happened, it’s best not to focus on it. The present and the future is still in your hands to form them however you wish. The music is a sweet, hopeful piece, so how about you tell me what it is you’re hoping to achieve in this season?”

"I want to show everyone that the real me isn't who they saw last year."

Viktor stays silent for a few moments. The only noise Yuuri hears is the end of Viktor’s pen tapping on the corner if his lip as the thinks.

“With what feelings did you come into the Finals last year? That looks like a good starting point for the story arch."

“I knew that it might be my only chance to meet you on my own terms, so I wanted to do my best. I didn’t do too bad with my short program, I was third behind you and Chris. But then everything fell apart.”

“Why?”

“Vicchan died the night before the free skate and I was completely alone, so I ate until I was sick.”

“Yuuri, I had no idea.”

Oh. Viktor doesn't know. Hiroko often shares anecdotes of the puppy when Makkachin reminds her of something, and he’s seen Vicchan’s shrine, but he guesses they never talked about when or how he died.

“Nobody had. It’s fine,” Yuuri sighs. “It’s life.”

It’s not fine at all and Viktor doesn’t seem to buy into the lie either. He remembers the promise he made only a few days ago, that he'd never pretend he was okay when he wasn't. He’s contemplating Yuuri with eyes so intense Yuuri doesn’t know where to hide from them.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I’d have done if it was Makka,” Viktor whispers.

“You’d have skated and won like a champion, and then drunk yourself silly at the banquet. Or a bar, perhaps, because you’re classy and you have sponsorship deals to protect.”

“Oh, Katsuki Yuuri, where would I be without you?” Viktor sighs. He looks more amused than reasonable while talking about the deaths of their dogs.

“I fucked up really badly,” he continues the story. “I ruined what I thought was my only chance to have you recognize me as a worthy competitor. I came in last, and that added to my devastation. I lost all of my inspiration. I wasn’t able to pull myself together until the Nationals, so I screwed up again and I wasn't invited to the Four Continents. Worlds wasn’t even a question anymore. I was giving up. I kicked Celestino out and moved back home because there was nothing else to do. And then you showed up and reminded me why I loved skating.”

“You aren’t skating now only because I showed up though, right?”

“I don’t think so, not anymore,” Yuuri answers slowly, honestly. “You saw what I was like back then. There’s no way I’d have had the willpower to start intense training without someone like you pushing me, but it reminded me how fun it was. After everything that happened, I still loved it."

“Good, Yuuri. That’s the answer I wanted to hear.”

They share a tiny smile and Yuuri’s heart flutters shyly.

"So, what is the message you want to send to your audience when you skate the part about your future?"

“I don’t know. Do I need a message?”

“You can’t tell a story without an ending,” Viktor says softly.

“I don’t know what’s the ending,” Yuuri confesses. “Do I have to decide right now?”

“I usually know exactly what I want to skate about when I create the choreography, but I understand how difficult laying your heart bare for everyone to see must be,” Viktor answers. “How about I come up with something basic that we can tweak as we go?”

“I’d like that,” Yuuri says, hugging his knees closer to his body.

“Thank you for sharing all of this with me, Yuuri.”

“No, I— Thank you for—” he gestures with his hand, looking for the right words. Why does this happen every time he wants to say something important? “Thank you for listening, and for not judging, I guess.”

“Yuuri, what your story tells me is that you’re an unbelievably strong person. It's amazing how far your willpower got you. There's nothing here anyone would judge you on. I feel privileged that I can be the choreographer turning this story into a routine."

Yuuri feels his face warm up. He hears himself babble something in gratitude and he hopes it's as incomprehensible to Viktor as it is to himself because it’s surely embarrassing. Viktor laughs, and it’s not a mocking snigger, it’s a real, genuine, tinkling sort of laughter Yuuri has only ever heard when Makkachin did something exceptionally adorable.

 

* * *

 

The following days feel surreal. Viktor is… It’s hard to explain. He gets into this strange _zone_ , creating, where Yuuri is tolerated but almost entirely ignored. Yuuri’s free skate music plays non-stop from Viktor’s phone for fifty straight hours, with Viktor either hunching over a notebook or dancing in the little space in his room that isn’t stacked full of furniture.

Yuuri offers to take him to Minako-sensei’s studio, but Viktor shoots the idea before Yuuri can even fully vocalize it. He needs his privacy, he says, and says no more unless he wants to hear Yuuri’s input or wants to see whether Yuuri’s capable of pulling off a certain spin or step sequence.

For the first couple of hours, Yuuri feels like an intruder, like he isn’t supposed to witness a miracle in the making. Even though he thinks he’s pretty desensitized to the Viktor Nikiforov phenomenon by now, a big chunk of why he fell for his skating a decade ago were the intricate choreographies he came up with. Yuuri doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel about being part of the creating process all of a sudden. In his heart, it equals to witnessing Kami-sama ascending to Earth, or something equally dramatic.

After those first crucial hours, when the novelty wears down, Yuuri settles in constant awe as he realizes that although he might have watched all of Viktor’s performances a thousand times, he has never seen him dance off the ice. Yuuri’s strongest point is ballet so that’s what he’s sticking to and he's absolutely mesmerizing. He vaguely remembers an ages-old interview trying to pry into the secrets of Viktor's family life. It says that his mother, ex-prima ballerina and current ballet master of the Mariinsky Ballet, was the reason he started dancing in the first place. Numerous articles were mourning the fact that Viktor chose figure skating over ballet. The stuck-up dance enthusiasts would never find out whether Viktoriya Nikiforova’s son would be able to live up to her well-deserved fame.

In a shaggy little room, in a shaggy little onsen, in a shaggy little Japanese town, Yuuri knows that absolutely no one in the world compares to Viktor's sheer talent. He's so beautiful that watching him almost makes him cry.

They do end up in Minako-sensei's studio by hour thirty-six because Viktor's convinced the reason why Yuuri keeps tripping on his own two feet is that their bedrooms are too small. He goes with that. He'd rather climb under a rock and die than to admit the real reason is that he can’t look away from Viktor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
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> _Kami-sama = the Japanese call their deities Kami-sama or Kamisama_
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> Kudos and comments make me happy and I appreciate them more than you think ;) You can find me on Tumblr too, as [@glitterburg](http://glitterburg.tumblr.com) if you'd like to connect with me over there.


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